


Somewhere in Time

by baeconandeggs, lightuptheskies



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: BAE2017, Blood and Violence, M/M, Wartime, some sexual content, very slight mentions of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 08:25:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeconandeggs/pseuds/baeconandeggs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightuptheskies/pseuds/lightuptheskies
Summary: Somewhere between his past and his present reality, a great love was found and lost. Now, plagued by a pair of almond eyes and guided by the stars, Baekhyun seeks to find it again.





	Somewhere in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Author: anonymous  
> Prompt#: 006  
> Title: somewhere in time  
> Word Count: 25,006  
> Side Pairing(s):none  
> Rating: r  
> Warning(s):very slight mentions of death, blood and violence (as part of the setting is in wartime Goryeo), some sexual content  
> Disclaimer:The celebrities' names/images are merely borrowed and do not represent who the celebrities are in real life. No offense is intended towards them, their families or friends. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this fictional work. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note:  
> I have tried to do proper research for this fic but I’ve also taken some (many lol) liberties in rearranging and rewriting history for the plot to advance. I also had misgivings in using the names “Hoo-jun” for Chanyeol and “Wang-eun” for Baekhyun all throughout the historical part of the story but it was what the prompt asked for and I believe I’ve done my best for the readers to recognize the pairing even with different names. To the owner of this prompt, know that I have regretted choosing it everyday since I signed up for this year’s bae but also, know despite that, I couldn’t seem to let it go. In short, I knew I’ll do poorly but I loved it. Thank you and I’m sorry. I do not really know what else to say but I am always most grateful to the mods for putting up with my mess every year. For N who is always there to laugh at me and hold my hand at the most crucial of times. And for M, to whom I already owe six of my nine lives. (Written to the tune of Back in Time by Lyn).

 

 

  _“I was loved in my dreams last night. It echoed through me like thunder—I felt it through and through. When I woke up, I couldn’t shake the feeling of his arms around me and the sound of his voice, already half forgotten._

_The loss was indescribable. And I couldn’t help that feeling of certainty that I have felt this way before. Somewhere in time, throughout the ages, I was loved—I was loved and my eyes were wide open.”_

**“Awake” by Lang Leav**

(The Universe of Us, 2016)

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Goryeo, 1169_  
  


 

 

 

 

The silence of the night is deafening, relentlessly piercing through his eardrums that Hoo-jun grunts every now and then just to break it and get a moment’s reprieve. The air was heavy despite all the windows being open and not the faintest of breeze reaches the man lying half-naked on the sleeping mat. He can feel the sweltering heat of August in every inch of his body. _Even bugs must hate this place_ , he thinks, a disgusted frown marring his sweat-dampened forehead.  
  
He sighs deeply. It has been a fortnight but his mind and his body still rejects being there. The palace, with its opulent emerald walls covered in fancy gilt patterns, is suffocating and he is sick of it. Hoo-jun wants to go back to the tiny house he used to share with his father. In the country, the air is fresh and doesn’t smell of the cloying perfume the haughty nobles of the court are so fond of wearing. There, the morning breeze doesn’t stink of greed and intrigue. The water isn’t contaminated with abuse of power and death.  
  
Being the son of a warrior, Hoo-jun is young but he is by no means an innocent. He spent the last ten years of his life in the military camps in the mainland, ate with seasoned soldiers and survived the cold winter with them. It was a harsh existence punctuated by hunger and oppression. Their struggle was ruthlessly compounded by the ruling clan’s hostility against their class. It is no wonder that he nurses a deep resentment for the reigning King and his family, each and every one of them.  
  
He knows hardship and he’s well acquainted with loss. He was but a boy of five when General Jeong found him weakly gasping for breath after a raid in a village in the outskirts of Kyung-ju. Hoo-jun had been afraid of the general all those years ago. Standing at almost seven-feet and bigger than life, Jeong Jung-bu was a very formidable figure in the midst of the fire and thick smoke surrounding them. But he had extended a large hand for the shaking boy to hold on to and the next thing Hoo-jun woke up to was a calloused palm feeling his temperature and old, tired eyes watching over him. For reasons still unclear to him up to this day, the war-hardened man took him in and treated him as if he were his own son.  
  
Hoo-jun sits up and takes a much needed breath. His ink-black fringes fall across his eyes in disarray and he brushes them back with an impatient hand. He really hates this place. He wants to be there down the mountain, in the battlefield where he can be of real help to his country. Yet he knows he won’t leave because the person he cares most about is here.  
  
His father has been recently appointed Chief of Staff and Hoo-jun believes there was an untrustworthy motive behind it. But no one disobeys the King’s orders so all he can do right now is watch from the sidelines and wait. In a few months he’ll be a full-fledged adult. He can protect General Jeong much better once he’s able to don his archer’s uniform and officially become a soldier.  
  
Knowing he won’t be able to sleep any time soon, Hoo-jun puts on a light tunic, just enough to cover his long limbs, and ties his hair back with a leather strap. He goes out of his room and takes care to do this quietly, not wanting to wake the personal aide sleeping in the tiny room right next to his. That’s another thing he greatly disapproves of. He was given a place in the Chief of Staff’s household and he is unused to the luxuries suddenly thrusted towards him. He can take care of himself—has been doing it all his life—and can certainly continue to do so. He doesn't need the boy, Sehun, to prepare his clothes nor accompany him around the palace.  
  
Hoo-jun was almost to the front door when he hears another one slide open, followed by the sound of familiar footsteps coming towards him. A few seconds later, he sees the shadow of another man overlap his own across the wooden floor.  
  
“Sneaking out, I see.”  
  
“I’m not.” Hoo-jun reluctantly turns to face his father. “I only wanted to get some fresh air.”  
  
The general barks out a short laugh with a hint of rancor, much too loud in the empty hall. But no one stirs in the household and the two men remain alone. “When you find it, be sure to tell me.”  
  
The younger male sees the deep lines etched in his father’s worn face. Armor-less and dressed in his sleeping robes, the general looks every bit of his age.“I will come back shortly. You should rest.”  
  
“Ah, sleep is for the weak.” General Jeong scratches on his white beard thoughtfully. “I will lie down, however. My knees aren’t as strong as they used to be.”  
  
That’s the most Jeong Jung-bu will admit to a weakness. Hoo-jun nods once again and opens the door. He pauses, though, when the general speaks again.  
  
“I, too, long for the days when we can freely lie outside in the fields with the men and look up at the skies at night. Counting stars, praying every one of them will guide us through our battles. A wish that for every star, we save at least one of our people.” He stops to give his adoptive son an understanding look, one that says he knows what Hoo-jun is feeling since he came to the palace. “I know it is difficult, Hoo-jun. But this is what must be done.”  
  
“I know, father,” Hoo-jun replies. “For our people.”  
  
“I cannot take us back home yet, however, the path to the stars, I can open for you.” The general takes off the ring around his index finger and throws it towards Hoo-jun who catches it with one hand. “Follow the way to the bridge, north of the Crown Prince’s quarters. Do not cross it, instead turn to the East and you’ll see a tower. If anyone bars you entrance, show my ring and tell them it’s official business.”  
  
Hoo-jun looks at his father with confusion. “A tower?”  
  
“A tower to the sky.” With a last encouraging smile, the old man returns to his room.  
  
Mystified but admittedly curious, Hoo-jun follows his father’s directions to the letter. Soon, he’s standing in front of a very tall structure. He has never been to this part of the palace before. Painted a solid blue, the tower is surrounded by pine trees that only stretch to half of its height. To his surprise, no one is around to guard the building. Hoo-jun locates the entrance and swiftly enters.  
  
There isn’t much space at the bottom of the tower. Inside, the walls are washed white and there is only enough room for a wide spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever. Hoo-jun takes two steps at a time, eager to get to the top to what he now realizes must be the Astronomy tower the last King had commissioned years ago.  
  
_A tower to the sky._  
  
Hoo-jun feels anticipation build the further he climbs. He doesn’t get short of breath, instead the steady drop of temperature the higher he goes exhilarates him and propels him upward. Not long after, he sees the end and Hoo-jun quickens his steps, feeling a need to get there as soon as he can, to see what lies a few more flights ahead. His heart starts to beat harder and faster, _louder_ , but when he finally reaches the landing he stutters to a stop.  
  
It’s here that he loses his breath, at the top of the stairs, finding what can simply be the most beautiful view he has ever seen. There is a boy, face tilted up to the sky, looking beyond a large open window. His features are delicately showered with the brilliance of stars, the same ones that serve as the perfect backdrop to his small frame leaning gently against the window sill. Hoo-jun wordlessly stares at him for a time, wondering if the boy was real or a vision born from the play of lights and shadows inside the room.  
  
He could have been a forest fairy or a young god visiting Earth on a whim, save for the plain clothes. Though he appears to belong in silk and satin, the boy has on a tunic similar to what Hoo-jun is wearing, its fabric made of cheap hemp and cotton. His skin is smooth and fair, undamaged by the sun, but the tattered sandals on his feet are meant for the pebbled streets outside of the palace.  
  
Perhaps finally feeling Hoo-jun’s prolonged gaze, the young male suddenly turns his head and with a wary voice, asks, “Who goes there?”  
  
Hoo-jun carefully moves forward so that the other can see him. “I mean no harm.”  
  
The stranger straightens and shifts to face him fully. His small, droopy eyes are clear as he studies Hoo-jun, his smooth forehead crinkling in puzzlement. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”  
  
“I… I am here on official business,” Hoo-jun replies, immediately showing the boy his father’s ring.  
  
“In the Astronomy tower? At this hour?” the other says with an arched eyebrow.  
  
The general’s son isn’t sure why he’s compelled to explain himself, to bow down and to do whatever the boy says. The stranger is quite small compared to Hoo-jun’s height but the same cannot be said about his presence. His straight posture speaks of authority. It’s confusing. He can’t be any older than Hoo-jun is. “Yes.”  
  
“Hmmm.”  
  
“What of you?” Hoo-jun asks in return, wanting to get answers of his own. “What is a commoner like you doing here alone?”  
  
The young man breaks into a wide grin. “Am I not allowed here then?”  
  
In truth, Hoo-jun doesn’t know if they are or they aren’t allowed to so he’s not quite sure how to answer that. He tries to think of a good reply but he’s further distracted by the playful tilt of the stranger’s thin lips and the teasing look he is giving him.  
  
“I’ll let you off the hook,” the boy laughingly says after a short while. “I live here, so between the two of us, I think it is I who gets to ask the questions.”  
  
The taller boy can’t help the embarrassed flush that ran up his neck and settled on his cheeks. He curses to himself. Caught in an obvious lie, Hoo-jun decides to retreat immediately. “I apologize.”  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Hoo-jun stops in his tracks and looks over his shoulder at the stranger. He has left the window and is now standing in the middle of the room.  
  
“I did not say you cannot stay,” the boy says.  
  
Hoo-jun faces him hesitantly, not quite knowing what to reply. He thinks he should go but something in the other male’s grin pins his feet to the floor. In the weeks he has stayed in the palace, it's the first time someone aside from his father has smiled genuinely at him like that.  
  
“Come,” the boy invites him with a wave of his hand before ambling back to his spot by the window. “Tell me why you have the ring of the Chief of Staff.”  
  
Thinking he might as well stay since he already went to all that trouble, Hoo-jun follows the stranger and stops an arm’s length away. He is curious of him, too, he must admit. What was someone like him doing on top of the tower at midnight?  
  
“I am Jeong Hoo-jun, son of General Jeong Jung-bu.”  
  
“Oh, the general! I haven’t met him, as well. Is he truly as they say? Is he really a fierce giant? A man eight feet tall?” Hoo-jun is surprised when the other moves near, looking up at him with unconcealed fascination. “Is he?”  
  
The taller boy clears his throat, a little discomfited at the sudden lack of space between them. The stranger’s face was so close. He also smells of flowers. Hoo-jun frowns at that irrelevant observation. “He is tall but General Jeong is just several inches shy of seven feet.”  
  
“He’s still a giant to me.” The boy then _thankfully_ draws back. “You’re quite tall, too. You must take after your father.”  
  
He doesn’t correct the boy’s assumption. Hoo-jun merely nods.  
  
“But then your mother must be a beauty. I don’t believe the Chief of Staff can have a face similar to yours and be called _fierce_ ,” the boy says with a chuckle.  
  
Hoo-jun’s brows knit into a suspicious frown. _Is he calling me beautiful?_ “What do you mean by that?”  
  
“Nothing.” The stranger shrugs and rests his slender hands against the window frame. He’s smiling widely, looking contented with just staring up at the skies once more. After a few heartbeats, he glances back at Hoo-jun. “So you’re here in Ganghwa-do because of your father. I guess we’re not that much different.”  
  
“Your father works inside the palace, too?”  
  
The smaller male lets out an almost imperceptible sigh. “You can say that.”  
  
The answer makes Hoo-jun’s lips purse. “A freeloader just like I am, huh?”  
  
To his surprise, the boy seems to be affronted by his statement. “No, I am not a freeloader. I work here, too!”  
  
“Oh. All right.”  
  
“You don’t believe me?” the boy asks indignantly, correctly interpreting his expression. Hoo-jun kind of finds it amusing how the young stranger tried to stretch to his full height—which wasn’t really much. “For your information, I guard this place.”  
  
Hoo-jun can’t help but chuckle at that. “Not much of a guard seeing as I, an intruder, still am standing here unscathed.”  
  
The other male opens his mouth, about to start protesting but then he pauses and his frown dissolves into a rueful grin. “I guess, you’re right.”  
  
They stand there, both unconsciously smiling at the other, first impressions shifting and making way for _maybes, supposes_ and a few _perhaps_. Hoo-jun thinks maybe meeting the boy isn’t so bad. Maybe meeting him was fate. He supposes he’s just like him, forced to be in this place because of their fathers’ duties to the King. A kindred spirit.  
  
Perhaps, he can be his first friend.  
  
It becomes slightly embarrassing when Hoo-jun realizes he has been wordlessly staring for a while now and the boy seems flustered by the attention. Hoo-jun clears his throat and they look away at the same time. For some reason he feels suddenly shy—an emotion he is so unfamiliar with, it settles quite uncomfortably in his stomach.  
  
Hoo-jun returns his gaze outside the window, thinking of a way to dispel the sudden awkward atmosphere. He looks up and he feels happiness tug at his chest when he sees all the stars scattered freely across the dark sky.  
  
“It is wonderful, isn’t it?”  
  
The taller male turns to glance at the boy beside him. “Yes.”  
  
“I love going here every night to see them,” the tower guard says wistfully. “Even when the clouds are too thick to see, it’s all right because that’s what’s really amazing them. You don’t see the stars but you know they’re always there. And there is comfort in that, knowing you’re never alone.”  
  
_Are you lonely?_ Hoo-jun wants to ask but he thinks better of it. That is a question for two old friends and not strangers who just met on a cloudless night.  
  
The boy lifts a hand to point to the east. “See that? The brightest one? That’s the Epsilon of the Sagi—”  
  
“Sagittarii. I know.”  
  
“You do?” the other asks in surprise.  
  
Hoo-jun nods. “I was born in the month of Sagittarius, of course I know.”  
  
“Winter’s son. Is that why you seemed so cold?” the boy teases.  
  
“Maybe,” Hoo-jun answers simply. There were a lot of things that has made him cold and who knows? This bright-eyed stranger could be right. “I am an archer as well.”  
  
The smaller boy looks at him in awe. “A soldier for the King’s army?”  
  
“It’s Goryeo’s army. We do not belong to the King,” Hoo-jun corrects him. “And I will be. As soon as I become of age by the end of the year.”  
  
“Not very fond of our King Uijong are you?”  
  
“I… We were talking about the stars.” Hoo-jun evades the question. The stranger appears kind but he still doesn’t know him enough to utter words considered to be treasonous.  
  
“I don’t get it, though, how you could see an archer from a bunch of stars,” the other boy starts, accepting the change of topic readily. “I can identify all the important parts of it but I don’t see any figure at all.”  
  
“You just have to visualize,” Hoo-jun points at the constellation, warming to the subject. “That’s the tip of the arrowhead on the right. And then when you go further down—”  
  
“Believe me, at least a dozen tutors have already told me the same thing you are trying to teach,” the other confesses with an impish grin that distracts Hoo-jun from what the boy had just said. “With much more detailed and colorful descriptions. But all of them have failed. I don’t see how a mere boy like you can succeed.”  
  
Hoo-jun shakes his head. “You’re one impertinent scamp, aren’t you?”  
  
“I’m no scamp, how dare you!” the stranger says indignantly. “You barbarian. You shouldn’t address people who are older than you like that.”  
  
“What?” Hoo-jun frowns. “That can’t be true.”  
  
“Ha! I am six new moons older than you. I’ve come of age three months ago and am a true adult. Show some respect, boy,” the other male lightly scolds.  
  
Hoo-jun is surprised, to say the least. An adult? He looks like he’s just crossed the line of puberty. Hoo-jun instantly feels contrite. His father, more than everything else, has ingrained in him the importance of discipline, respect, and manners. He’s about to apologize but the boy's smug half-smile is very comical that he can’t help laughing at it.  
  
“Young man, that is not helping your cause.”  
  
“But you’re so… tiny,” Hoo-jun teases him in between sniggers. He finds himself unexpectedly thankful that he was caught by this young tower guard. He hasn’t felt this light in a long while.  
  
“Yes, well, I can still knock you down with my fists, see if I don’t.”  
  
That threat only makes Hoo-jun laugh more. His jaw promptly drops, though, when the boy hops—he actually hops!—to lightly hit the side of his head with an open palm. Now, it’s the other man’s turn to giggle at the shocked expression on his face.  
  
“All right. That didn’t knock you down but confess, that sure did surprise you.”  
  
It didn’t hurt but Hoo-jun bows his head and rubs the spot he hit all the same, hiding his amusement behind his large hand.  
  
“Oh, come now. That didn’t really hurt… did it?” When Hoo-jun doesn’t reply, the boy pulls down his hand and inspects the damage himself. Hoo-jun should’ve known by now how unpredictable the other male is. Instead of just looking, the boy lays his hand against the side of his face and pushes his hair up, thumb brushing back and forth the skin of his temple.  
  
Hoo-jun instinctively grabs on the small wrist, surprised and not knowing what to do with himself. He is no stranger to skinship but the way his heart seems to have leapt to his throat was new. The boy looks up at him in confusion, probably wondering at his extreme reaction to being touched. Hoo-jun knows he should’ve left earlier because he’s very much confused himself. He steps back and the boy follows with a step forward of his own.  
  
“I need to go,” he says.  
  
“Shall I go with you?”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
The tower guard looks pointedly down and Hoo-jun follows the line of his gaze. It’s then he becomes aware he’s still holding on to the other’s slim wrist, tightly he might add. He forces himself not to run right after he lets go, wanting to keep some of his dignity. What’s left of if at least.  
  
“Goodnight, Hoo-jun, Future Warrior of Goryeo.”  
  
“Goodnight, uh, Tower guard.”  
  
“Wang-eun.”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
The boy grins. “It is Wang-eun, my name.”  
  
_Wang-eun_. With a sense of foreboding, Hoo-jun tests the name on his lips. “Goodnight, Tower guard Wang-eun.”  
  
Wang-eun’s grin widens. “I shall see you again?”  
  
Hoo-jun nods hesitantly. “Ah, yes.”  
  
“Here, tomorrow night?”  
  
“I cannot say for sure.” Hoo-jun thinks he really needs to leave. He had wanted to be friends with Wang-eun but he’s now having second thoughts. It’s worrisome how he can’t seem to catch his breath when the other man continues to smile at him like that.  
  
“The next day then?”  
  
“Well, I—”  
  
“Your highness!”  
  
Both men turn their heads to where the harried voice came from. There’s a slightly-built man by the stairs who is holding onto his knees and breathing hard as if he had just ran up the spiral staircase, which he could most possibly have. From his clothes, Hoo-jun identifies him as a palace servant just like Sehun. With a big gulp of air, the man looks up with an anxious frown. “My prince?”  
  
As far as Hoo-jun knows there were only two people in the room before the attendant appeared. “There is no one else—”  
  
“What is it, Suho?”  
  
Hoo-jun freezes, blood running cold when he discovers just who it was the manservant was addressing.  
  
“The guards are doing their rounds and will reach the tower soon. We must go back,” Suho pleads.  
  
Wang-eun walks towards the nervous man but pauses to look back at Hoo-jun. The grace with which he does it hits the taller boy squarely in the chest. Wang-eun’s hands and his refined movements, his presence, the way he speaks—all of them were a dead giveaway. He had felt it earlier, that even with the man’s plain clothes, something was amiss but Hoo-jun got distracted by the open smiles and the easy banter. Now, it's painfully clear. Wang-eun is no commoner. He is royalty—son of the King and is a part of the family Hoo-jun despised the most.  
  
The shorter man had the decency to appear apologetic for his deceit. Hoo-jun steels himself against it. “I’ll be seeing you, Soldier Hoo-jun,” Prince Wang-eun says before he follows the servant down the steps.  
  
He should be angry at him. At the second of dawning, Hoo-jun should have been enraged for this is exactly what the royal family is. They were all liars. Yet Hoo-jun is angrier at himself because instead of outrage, the first thing he felt was a crushing disappointment. The bright Wang-eun and him can never be friends.  
  
_I apologize, your highness. The answer is no._  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Seoul, 2017_  
  


 

 

 

 

Baekhyun wakes up with a start.  
  
He saw them in his dreams again—large, dark brown eyes with a thousand stars reflected in their depths. It has been weeks since he started dreaming of them, _of him_ , but last night’s was the clearest yet. A beautiful but serious face. A deep voice that reached his heart and warmed his chest. And those eyes that were slanted the tiniest bit at the corners. Baekhyun felt him staring and looking into his soul, finding his secrets and his fears. He had felt unnerved but he couldn’t look away.  
  
He blinks to clear his vision. The image of that piercing stare is replaced by the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his room’s ceiling. Some of the smaller ones have already peeled off but the constellation is still recognizable. Baekhyun has always been fond of that formation, even more than his own birthsign. Maybe it’s because he sees everything else as nothing more than a jumble of bright celestial bodies. But with this one, for some reason, he can clearly recognize the arrow and the archer aiming the tip to the heavens.  
  
Baekhyun’s startled when his alarm goes off. He scrambles to reach the clock to stop its attack on his eardrums. He sighs in relief when he’s able to turn it off and sighs a longer one when he catches a glimpse of the time. He has a class this morning and he needs to get up now or he’ll be late. Baekhyun has been tardy enough times to warrant a warning from his professor and he’ll surely get dropped from the class if he incurs another one. He isn’t an irresponsible student but he has been getting little sleep lately, his mind always restless and unwilling to settle down peacefully into slumber. It keeps telling him to look for something, to find something, and he can’t figure out what it is. It’s only when he’s truly exhausted that his mind finally surrenders to the arms of Morpheus… only to dream of _him_.  
  
With limbs still heavy with fatigue, Baekhyun makes his way to the bathroom where he washes the last dregs of sleep from his body. The hot water helps in loosening the taut muscles on his shoulders and neck, and getting out of the shower stall is agony. Baekhyun wipes the fog from the mirror above the sink with a slender hand and his mouth curves down at the corners from what he sees. He’s only 20 years old, too young to look this tired and wary of the world.  
  
Although, having just finished his two-year military service right after high school may have contributed to that. He felt disconnected from society the months he spent away in the army. Sure, he had been in contact with his family and friends during that time but there were still so many things he had missed. Now, he’s in his first year in college, older than most of his classmates, lost in a sea of people who seem to live in an era he barely knew. He feels like a toddler just learning how to walk, stumbling on unsteady feet in the middle of a large room with no one to guide him but himself.  
  
After a quick cup of instant coffee, he tucks his dark unruly hair under a knitted beanie and heads out to the stop, reaching it just in time for the bus to arrive. He’s lucky there was a window seat he could slip into. He can just look out the window the whole 17-minute ride, less chances for eye contact and meeting people from the university. It’s not that he hates interacting with them—he was once the ‘life of the party,’ the popular guy who had a funny quip for every situation—but talking means having to spend what little energy he has right now and he’s saving everything for his classes.  
  
He leans his head against the glass. The sun’s completely up and it’s rays warm up the smooth surface against his temple a little. He savors the few remaining days of fall before the bite of the winter season. He hates the cold. Baekhyun watches the world outside of the bus as the vehicle goes steadily down the road. His eyes absently follow a tall guy hunched over a tiny white scooter running alongside the bus, a matching tiny white helmet on top of his head. The guy’s ears are red from the cold and are sticking out almost perpendicularly to his head. _Poor dumbo ears_ , he thought as he watches the man accelerate down the lane. Baekhyun unconsciously smiles before he lets his eyelids close for the rest of the ride.  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Goryeo, 1169_  
  


 

 

 

 

The hand holding on to the arrow stings but Hoo-jun pays it no attention while he aims for the target several meters away from him. He’s sweating heavily inside his clothes as the unforgiving sun stretches its scorching rays towards him, reaching for his limbs and enveloping him in heat. He has been outside since early morning, practicing with his bow and arrow and Hoo-jun is very frustrated, to say the least, as he hasn’t hit a single bullseye yet. After more than a hundred tries, not one arrowhead has met the black circle at the center of the target.  
  
And that is all right if he was a novice bowman but he isn’t. Not at all. He was a celebrated archer back in the camp, better than most of the veteran warriors who have fought and survived wars even before he was born. He knows he’s good. Everyone knows he’s good. So why can’t he score _one goddamn bullseye_?  
  
Unwittingly, an image of a beautiful, smiling face dances across his mind and Hoo-jun’s hold on the bow tightens. He shakes his head to dispel the thought. _Snakes, liars, all of them_. He takes a deep breath and focuses on the bullseye once more. He takes careful aim and this time he feels he can finally hit it. He stretches the arrow over the bowstring, takes another breath and prepares to let go. But at the last second before release, he detects a movement at the corner of his eye and it's enough to destroy his concentration, making him entirely lose focus. His fingers slip and the arrow wildly shoots forward. It lands way off mark, falling on the ground and not even touching the target.  
  
_Damnation._  
  
Hoo-jun straightens and faces the intruder, or intruders rather, as the boy who has deceived him a few nights ago was there dressed in his blue prince’s robes with a half-dozen or so of manservants trailing behind him. Hoo-jun recognizes one of them, Suho, the man who came to collect his master that night.  
  
The smiling prince walks closer, leaving his attendants, even hopping a little, undeterred with how Hoo-jun was obviously scowling at the sight of him. “So you’re here,” he says as he stops beside Hoo-jun. “I was beginning to think the world was indeed flat and you fell off of it.”  
  
Hoo-jun doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns his back on him and picks up another arrow, hoping the other male takes the hint and leaves. But Wang-eun continues to speak, seemingly unaware that he has just been snubbed.  
  
“I was waiting for you at the tower the other night and the many nights that followed yet you did not come. I was looking for you everywhere, too. Good thing I finally realized that, of course, as a soldier you’d stay at this part of the palace. Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding me and—”  
  
“I was.”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
Hoo-jun mentally groans. He did not want this conversation. He glances at the young prince. Wang-eun's puzzled, though his eyes are still bright and a little hopeful. “I think we shouldn’t meet or speak to each other, your highness.”  
  
“But why?”  
  
“Because you are the _prince_ ,” Hoo-jun says, forcing his voice to come out even and emotionless despite the resentment for the title. “You shouldn’t be talking to lowly soldiers like me.”  
  
“Is it really because of that?” Wang-eun gives him a searching look. “Why do I feel like there’s something more?”  
  
The way Wang-eun seems to read into his eyes unsettles Hoo-jun that the next words he utters come out rather harsh. “Run along, Prince Wang-eun and do whatever it is that you princes do. Live your happy life spending the people’s money and leave us be.”  
  
The prince somehow folds into himself at the reply and the sight pulls at Hoo-jun’s chest but he ignores it. No, he will not feel guilt for saying the truth.  
  
“Is that what you think of me?” Wang-eun asks quietly. “Tell me.”  
  
“And then get hanged if I do?”  
  
“You will not. Tell me the truth. Is that what you think of me?” he asks again.  
  


"Isn't that the truth?” Hoo-jun says with a look of derision. He stares at Wang-eun from head to toe and back again. “How much did that silk robe cost? That band around your head with that golden crest? How many starving families right outside the palace walls could those pair of shoes have fed? Do you know? Do you even care?”  
  
Hoo-jun’s voice has risen and his shoulders are tense with barely suppressed ire. He sees Suho walking towards them, face resolute and ready to defend his master but he’s still a few feet away when the prince stays him with a gesture of his hand. The attendant immediately stops advancing, though he looked as if he didn’t really want to. Hoo-jun returns a scornful smirk to Suho’s warning stare.  
  
“Go on, Soldier Hoo-jun.” Wang-eun says, returning his full attention back to him. “What else do I do?”  
  
“You really want to know? Nothing. You do nothing,” Hoo-jun replies without hesitation. “Beyond these walls, the people of your land are suffering. There are murderous raiders burning houses and families to the ground if they don’t get a single grain from them. They’re already so poor! But what do you despicable nobles do? You can’t even protect them when the reason they have no grain to spare to even feed themselves is because you already take the lot of it! You all have the power to stop this. Your father. Every one of you. If you would just _care_. But no, you’re all useless. You are too busy being spoiled and pampered inside the palace. You treat the land’s warriors as _slaves_ andexpect them to serve your every whim. You’re given anything you want along with a slew of servants at your beck and call. Then when you’re bored with all your games and your toys, you arrogantly walk in the streets in your fineries and act as if you own everything—every single thing you touch and step on.”  
  
It is maddening how Wang-eun just remains standing there, taking the tongue-lashing silently, when Hoo-jun’s chest is already heaving with the effort of holding himself back. He wants to do more, say so much more. He wants to wrap his hand around that slender shoulder and shake the prince so he’d say something. _Anything_. Because the longer the silence lasts, the more Hoo-jun is starting to feel like he is the villain here, yelling and towering over such a tiny, defenseless boy.  
  
“What? Nothing to say?” Hoo-jun taunts. “Or are you already plotting how to have me disposed of?”  
  
Hoo-jun’s slightly taken aback when the prince suddenly snatches the bow from his hold and walks around him to get to the pile of arrows at his feet. Wang-eun picks one up and straightens to look him in the eye. “I do not let others do that kind of work for me. I do it myself.”  
  
He places the arrow on the bow and then aims the tip straight at Hoo-jun’s chest. In this short distance, a hit to the heart is sure and fatal. Hoo-jun braces himself when the prince pulls the bowstring back. Expert or not, he can’t miss this shot but then Wang-eun abruptly turns to the target and shoots without delay. The arrowhead cleanly sinks through the center. Hoo-jun somehow feels the sharp metal tip burrow in his chest, instead.  
  
“Do not judge a person by the circumstances he was born in. That is unjust and speaks of arrogance, the very same thing you accuse me of having.” Wang-eun hands the bow back to Hoo-jun and it's then that the taller boy sees the hurt that managed to diminish the brightness in his eyes. Wang-eun is older and seemed so mature just a few moments ago, but he looks very much like a wronged child when he says, “You were already thinking all of those things about me… When all I thought was how happy I was that after twenty years, I finally found a friend.”  
  
The prince leaves, his attendants following dutifully behind him once more. Suho regards Hoo-jun with disdain before he hurries to take his place at his master’s right side.  
  
_I will not feel sorry. I will not feel guilty._  
  
What he said was the truth. His own parents died in one of those raids. He saw them burn right before him and he wanted to reach out to them, rescue them but his young limbs couldn’t move and his arms were too short to reach even the ashes of his mother’s skirt. He could’ve died if it weren’t for the general. He’s all grown up now yet the scars remain gruesome and painful. They are carved too deeply into his skin and into his soul. Hoo-jun will never forget.  
  
Still, after all those recollections, he cannot quiet down the uneasiness in his stomach much more when the memory of the prince’s trembling lower lip keeps bothering him throughout the day. Admittedly, if he wasn’t an enemy, Hoo-jun would’ve called the prince’s little performance to put him in his place glorious. Prince Wang-eun is apparently a skilled marksman and a well-educated noble. He had attempted to put on a tough exterior but in the end, just before he left, Hoo-jun saw that he remains a young man who gets easily hurt by the words of a boy who shouldn’t even matter to him.  
  
“Young master,” Sehun calls from outside his room. “It is time for dinner. Your father says he will be dining at the banquet with the other council members so he can’t join you tonight.”  
  
Hoo-jun’s disappointed. He was looking forward to talking to his father. General Jeong has always been a good conversationalist. Hoo-jun thought discussing the current affairs of the empire can help distract him from the episode this morning and make him return his focus on more important things. He gets up and greets Sehun with a short nod.  
  
Hoo-jun walks towards the dining area but he notices Sehun maintains his position by the door. “Have you eaten yet?” Hoo-jun asks.  
  
“I will be dining with the others after you, young master.”  
  
“Why don’t you join me then? I hate eating alone.”  
  
Sehun immediately shakes his bowed head. “I cannot do that, young master.”  
  
Hoo-jun can’t help but roll his eyes heavenward. “Is it because of the stupid house rules again?”  
  
“No, young master—”  
  
“And what did I say about calling me that?”  
  
“But young master—”  
  
“I told you I don’t like being called and treated as some high nobleman. I hate it,” Hoo-jun says. “From now on, everytime I hear you calling me ‘young master’ you will skip a meal.” Hoo-jun thinks that’s cruel enough of a threat. His attendant is already so wiry thin, he can’t afford to lose food. But the pale Sehun, though becoming even paler, just bowed in acquiescence. “You’re agreeing to that?”  
  
“Young master,” Sehun says with a big gulp at the thought of one missed meal, “my mother, she will have my hide if she hears me address you as such.”  
  
Hoo-jun sighs. “Call me _hyung_ , and tell her that it’s an order from General Jeong. Now come and let’s eat. I am famished.”  
  
Sehun reluctantly follows Hoo-jun to the dining table, gingerly sitting on the wooden floor. He appears horrified at first when Hoo-jun begins to split the food with him but he soon settles down. The older boy shakes his head at the way Sehun wolfs down his share. From the looks of it, the servant boy was hungry. Hoo-jun gets riled at the thought. No one should ever be hungry in Goryeo.  
  
Hoo-jun starts to eat, too, and when some time has passed, begins to chat with Sehun. He’ll be here in Ganghwa-do for a long time and he does need someone to talk to or go steadily insane. He also needs to get information anyway. “How long have you been here in the palace?”  
  
Sehun chokes for a moment on a piece of chicken leg, surprised at the question. He swallows audibly before answering. “I was born here, young mas— _hyung_.” At Hoo-jun’s approving nod, he continues, “My mother and her mother, her mother’s mother and her mother’s mother’s mother—it goes a long way back, really—have always been in the palace’s employ, whoever the King might be. We’ve been serving the royal family for ages.”  
  
“Ah. How old are you then?”  
  
“Seven and ten,” Sehun answers, a bit proudly. “But I’m really tall and sturdy for my age my father says.”  
  
Hoo-jun has doubts on the _sturdy_ part but Sehun is indeed tall, just a few inches shorter than him. “You’ll grow taller. Men do until they come of age at twenty and even beyond.”  
  
Sehun beams at that.  
  
“Are a lot of attendants your age?”  
  
“Hmmm, I think on this side of the palace, yes. The older ones are sent to the Royal quarters to serve the king and his family. They are more trained and skilled.”  
  
At the mention of the royal family, Hoo-jun’s attention sharpens. “Of course, only the best for royalty.”  
  
“Yes,” Sehun nods in agreement. “I have a cousin who is serving a prince, and I’ve heard he trained for seven years! Suho-hyung is lucky, though, they are paid more and are dressed better than us.”  
  
“Suho?”  
  
“Yes. Do you know him?” Sehun asks.  
  
“I do, actually,” Hoo-jun says almost in disbelief at this coincidence. “He is Prince Wang-eun’s manservant, is he not?”  
  
“Oh, you know the tenth Prince?”  
  
“Not at all.” Hoo-jun’s not sure if he’s fortunate or not that his attendant seems to be fond of the said prince because he doesn’t speak more yet Sehun certainly does.  
  
“I’ve met him twice,” Sehun says with another proud smile. “There are lot of princes and princesses but I’ve never met anyone as kind as him.”  
  
“How many of the royal family have you met?”  
  
“One... but that is beside the point because I’m sure even if I met the king’s other eleven sons, Prince Wang-eun would still be the nicest of them all.”  
  
Hoo-jun stares doubtfully at the younger male. “What makes you say that?”  
  
“My cousin, Suho… I didn’t mention… He was supposed to be one of the older princes’ personal attendant but during presentation, he got rejected for the simple reason that he is of below their standard for height.” Sehun scoffs. “He has trained for years, years I tell ya, and they don’t even care! He was judged because of his appearance when the princes who rejected him were only as tall as him. And so, having failed, my cousin was supposed to be let out into the streets but the kind Prince Wang-eun didn’t let that happen. No, he didn’t!”  
  
Sehun had feelingly slammed his fist on the table, startling even himself. The boy quickly apologizes, bowing so low his nose touched the floor.  
  
“Think nothing of it, Sehun. Eat.”  
  
The servant boy shyly picks up his utensils and resumes eating. Hoo-jun does the same but truly, he has lost his appetite. This wasn’t the kind of story he had wanted to know when he sat down with his attendant. He didn’t want to learn that perhaps the spark of connection he had felt when he first met Wang-eun was not unfounded. Hoo-jun didn’t want to acknowledge that even though the Wang-eun was a part of the royal family, there is some good in him.  
  
And between the two of them, Hoo-jun was the one who acted like a spoiled prince.  
  
He’s all restless that night and instead of the door to his room, Hoo-jun finds himself at the entrance to the astronomy tower. His feet somehow took him there while his head was in a turmoil. There are no guards outside again and so he enters and ascends the spiral steps with no hindrance. Hoo-jun is not sure what he’ll find when he reaches the top, still, just like before, the desire to reach the end quickly consumes him. His footsteps are swift and light and he makes no sound as he arrives at the top of the stairs, concealing himself behind of the wide columns supporting the whole tower.  
  
He doesn’t know what to expect but he dispels one relieved breath when he sees the boy by the window. He’s wearing the same commoner clothes he had on the first night Hoo-jun came here. This time, he is not leaning against the window sill, relaxed. Prince Wang-eun is pacing, mumbling, stopping for a few seconds glaring at something on a large table nearby before pacing again. Hoo-jun watches him for a while, unconsciously mesmerized by the prince’s movements. He looks agitated… irritated, even.  
  
“I don’t know, map, I’ve checked and checked but it seems you’re deluding me! It’s not there,” Wang-eun says, throwing both hands in the air. “Ugh, I give up!”  
  
_Who is he talking to? The map?_  
  
The prince suddenly stills, though, and peeks at Hoo-jun’s direction. “I know there’s somebody there. Reveal yourself.”  
  
He can run and with his long legs, Hoo-jun knows there’s little chance he’ll be caught. He chooses to step out of the shadows instead. The prince’s small eyes widen at the sight of him, before the memories of their morning encounter floods back and makes them narrow.  
  
“Do you have no sense of danger? Foolishly calling out like that. I’ve been here a solid five minutes,” Hoo-jun says. “I could’ve been a hired killer and in that time I could have slit your throat and escaped.”  
  
Wang-eun raises a brow. “Is that what you came here to do?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then it’s neither here nor there.” The prince walks to the table and arranges the things on top. “Soldier Hoo-jun, I believe you have no business here.”  
  
Wang-eun picks up a wooden tube but a smaller cylinder attached to one end of it comes off and rolls off the table towards Hoo-jun. The taller male picks it up and makes his way to where the prince is warily looking at him. Hoo-jun places the object on the table and sees a chart of the heavens etched on its surface. He notices several celestial maps on top, a few of them with markings and computations. Prince Wang-eun appears to be looking for something and couldn’t find it.  
  
“What are you doing?” Wang-eun asks when Hoo-jun picks up a map of a constellation and places it against the markings on the table.  
  
The young archer doesn’t reply. He goes on to make marks of his own on the parchment. He looks out the big window from time to time and makes more markings. His eyes go to the wooden tube Prince Wang-eun is holding. “Is that…?”  
  
“An oculus, a gift from the East. They say it helps you find things even if they are so far away and… You have not answered my question,” Wang-eun frowns. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Please stand there,” Hoo-jun says, pointing to a spot by the open window. “And point the oculus at a quarter of an angle to your right.”  
  
Hoo-jun thought the prince wouldn’t do it but after an incredulous look, Wang-eun raises the wooden instrument to the spot he instructed. “All right. There is nothing there," the prince responds dryly.  
  
The general’s son goes to stand behind the prince and raises his arm over Wang-eun’s to tilt the oculus at the correct angle. “There. _Antares_. The heart of Scorpius. Do you see it now?” Hoo-jun looks down at the male in front of him and he thinks, despite the broad shoulders, the tenth prince is indeed tiny. When he shifts, his soft hair brushes against Hoo-jun’s jaw and that makes the taller boy step back, belatedly realizing he was so, so close.  
  
Wang-eun puts down the instrument. “I see, it is not as impressive as I thought. Still it is comforting to know that even scorpions do have hearts.”  
  
The barb accurately found its way to Hoo-jun’s conscience. “This morning…”  
  
“It is done. I am grateful for the assistance. Goodnight, Soldier Hoo-jun.”  
  
Hoo-jun doesn’t let that deter him. “My family, my whole village was burned in front of my eyes... and the nobles who had all the power to stop it didn’t even bat an eyelid. It was a small village, mostly old farmers and what cattle they have to survive and in less than an hour nothing was left of it but smoke and ashes. My parents,” he pauses to drive back the painful images, "were honest hard-working people who did not deserve such cruel death.”  
  
Wang-eun pales but remains silent.  
  
“Ordinary people toil outside the palace just to cater to the royal family’s luxuries. You get all the best Goryeo has to offer but your people are suffering and cannot even hope for protection. When there is suffering and starvation there is desperation to survive. And that desperation turns to violence.” Hoo-jun runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “This has been going on for ages but not even one move was made to correct it. The warriors and the soldiers are now treated as nothing more than your uniformed lackeys.”  
  
“And this is why you hate me.”  
  
“I… do not hate you,” Hoo-jun says haltingly. “I came here to apologize.”  
  
Prince Wang-eun stares at him in shock.  
  
“I have thought about what you said. I cannot simply erase the resentment I have for your kind but it is arrogant of me to think that every one of you is the same.” Hoo-jun sees Wang-eun’s lips relax into a smile and he is quick to dash whatever thought the prince is entertaining right now. “But being friends, you and I, it is impossible.”  
  
Wang-eun’s smile freezes. “You said you did not hate me,” the smaller man says accusingly.  
  
“I am sorry.”  
  
“Just as well,” Wang-eun replies after a pause, turning away from him and looking out the window. “I should not be the one to break it to you but since you’re already here… On the morrow, you’ll be part of my household. I requested it from the king—my own personal guard. What did you call it? Yes, a uniformed lackey. Until you come of age, I guess you are mine.”  
  
It’s Hoo-jun’s turn to be shocked at the prince’s proclamation. He had made a mistake in choosing to trust and he feels betrayed by his own stupidity. “What are you saying?”  
  
Wang-eun glances back at him. “Do not look at me like that, Soldier Hoo-jun. I did say you shouldn’t judge me because of my lineage." The prince returns his gaze outside. "I didn’t say I was any better than them. I’ve grown weary of the company. You can go now.”  
  
With a final disgusted glare, Hoo-jun walks out of the tower room seething in anger.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
_Seoul, 2017_  
  


 

 

 

 

His head feels like it's about to explode into a thousand pieces and there’s still a whole day left of classes. Baekhyun pulls the hood of his jacket lower to cover his face. It isn’t too bright outside—the skies are actually dark because of the impending rain—but what little light there is still hurts his eyes. He’s had little peace in his sleep the night before but then what else is new?  
  
The dreams have gotten progressively longer and more vivid since the term has started. Ancient cities, people… the guy who is there every night, without fail. At first, Baekhyun thought it’s probably because he’s a History major that’s why he keeps on dreaming of these things but they haven’t even reached the period he is in in his dreams yet.  
  
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he discreetly takes it out. There’s a message from his best friend, Jongdae, asking if he’s free to hangout that afternoon. Baekhyun replies in the negative, blaming it on catching up with school work. He receives a reply a few seconds later:  
  
_U r turning to a depressed old man._  
  
Well, he maybe is. He texts back:  
  
_If you were studying about wars everyday, you’ll get depressed, too. Bug off. >_>_  
  
“Isn’t that right, Mr. Byun?”  
  
Baekhyun looks up from his phone and sees his professor and classmates all watching him. He quickly pockets his phone and faces forward. It’s times like these that sitting at the topmost row is a disadvantage “Uh, yes, of course.”  
  
“What are your thoughts? Please do share, Mr. Byun,” the professor says.  
  
Baekhyun wants to sink into his chair. He has no idea what point they are discussing now. “Um…”  
  
He must have saved a dog in his past life because the bell rings and his classmates started putting away their things, stopping him from having to answer. The class is up. _Thank you_ , Baekhyun thinks. The professor hurriedly gives some final instructions and officially ends the lecture.  
  
Baekhyun shuffles to his feet and beelines for the door on his way to his next class. By the exit, he peeks back at his professor and sees him observing him with disapproval. Baekhyun gives him a sheepish smile and a small wave of goodbye. Not looking at where he’s heading, it’s no surprise he collides with something—someone at the door.  
  
“Sorry,” the guy and him say in unison. The boy continues on his way inside the room while Baekhyun pauses just outside. He’s sure he’s heard that deep voice before. A glance tells him the guy he bumped into was over six feet tall, on the thin side and has on a black hoodie similar to what Baekhyun has on. He cannot see anything more as the student’s back is to him.  
  
“Mr. Park, I’ve read your proposal and I think the department can help you with your project…”  
  
Someone bumps into him again and Baekhyun realizes three things at once: first is he’s eavesdropping, second, he’s in the way of the other students and third, if he doesn’t get going he’ll be late for History 203. He clutches on the strap of his backpack and hurries on his way.  
  
He doesn’t know a _Park_ that tall anyway.  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Goryeo, 1169_  
  


 

 

 

 

The downpour has just stopped. The heavy rain has washed away the last heat of summer and everyone is ecstatic. Everyone except perhaps for Hoo-jun.  
  
It has been close to two months since he became the tenth prince’s guard and what a joke that title was. He wants to go out and train properly as a soldier. Yet he’s here and is nothing more than an unwilling audience to the prince’s outings together with whoever nobleman’s daughter is visiting at the palace that time. After coming home disgruntled from one of these outings, Sehun has told him that these trips were to be expected. Prince Wang-eun is on the market for marriage.  
  
That somehow came as a surprise, since the prince doesn’t seem to be truly interested in anything, except maybe star-mapping and a few sports. Hoo-jun said as much to his attendant and the younger boy explained, “There is a rumor. They are saying the King is anxious to wed the tenth prince off.”  
  
“Why is that?”  
  
“My cousin says, the king doesn’t really care about what happens to him but the queen hates Lady Mu-bin, Prince Wang-eun’s mother, and so dislikes the prince, too. It is said, the queen has issued an ultimatum and it’s either the king drives Lady Mu-bin out of the palace or sell off his son to the noble families in the South to strengthen the alliance. Of course King Uijong chose Lady Mu-bin.”  
  
“He’s that weak,” Hoo-jun sneered.  
  
“The whole of Goryeo knows how much His majesty loves Lady Mu-bin,” Sehun answered with a shrug.  
  
Hoo-jun absently thinks about the conversation all the way to the Astronomy tower. His service to the prince ends when the sun sets but at night he still goes to the tower. Because somehow when the moon’s already high and he’s with the prince at the top, they aren’t enemies. There is only Soldier Hoo-jun and Tower guard Wang-eun. They aren’t friends but they aren’t at odds with each other either. They sometimes talk about the stars, the skies—safe topics, they are—and nothing about country, land or family. No wounds opened, no scars grazed.  
  
He reaches the landing just in time. There’s Prince Wang-eun, leaning against the open window, expression wistful. Hoo-jun spends a few moments looking at him, remembering him as the woodland fairy he once thought he was. Sometimes, the general’s son thinks the prince acts like he has no care in the world but in truth, he is not just lonely, Hoo-jun believes he’s also feels alone. If only he was a real tower guard then maybe… Hoo-jun shakes his head. Useless thoughts, all of it.  
  
Hoo-jun walks over to the table near the prince, making sure he makes enough noise to announce his presence. Prince Wang-eun straightens and schools his small face into a bored mask, something completely different from his expression earlier. He says nothing and Hoo-jun peruses the charts on the table. There are a few new ones with the ink barely dry. The prince appears to have been there for some time, mapping. An unfinished parchment catches Hoo-jun’s attention and when he spreads it out he recognizes the constellation immediately.  
  
“It is too early into the season. I’ve tried to find all of it’s parts but I only saw four,” Wang-eun says from beside him.  
  
“You’re able to catch the most important one, anyway.”  
  
“Only because it’s the brightest.”  
  
Hoo-jun points at the biggest dot on the map. “You forgot to label it.” He picks up a brush and starts to write on the paper.  
  
“No, I didn’t forget to label it. I merely forgot what it’s called.”  
  
The younger man turns his head to look at the prince and he’s astonished to see Wang-eun intently gazing up at his face. _“Aldebaran,”_ Hoo-jun says, voice low and a bit rough.  
  
Wang-eun doesn’t look away and continues to stare at him as if he’s memorizing the shape of his face. “Aldebaran.”  
  
_The brightest_ , the thought enters unbidden into Hoo-jun’s mind as he takes in Prince Wang-eun’s eyes, his nose, his thin, oddly shaped lips and the tiny mole resting almost to the left corner of its upper bow.  
  
It’s the prince who looks away first. He swipes the brush from Hoo-jun’s hand and dips it unto the ink bottle. He then writes on the parchment with even, graceful strokes, finishing the name, his clean handwriting a striking contrast to Hoo-jun’s impatient one. “Tomorrow at sunrise, there will be a hunt. My father has invited several of his council members, my brothers, and me to join,” Wang-eun blows softly on the parchment to dry the ink, “For once, he remembered he has a tenth son.”  
  
The shorter male cannot completely disguise the enmity beneath his calm exterior. He finishes with a satisfied nod and replaces the brush in its holder. “I know we do not speak of our affairs outside here inside the tower but tonight is an exception.”  
  
“I understand,” Hoo-jun answers. “I will be in the courtyard before the sun rises.”  
  
Prince Wang-eun smiles his first genuine smile at him since the start of their dispute. “Soldier Hoo-jun, what do you care about?”  
  
Hoo-jun’s confused by the question but he answers anyway. “My father and Goryeo.”  
  
“Ah,” Wang-eun says with a short laugh. “I’m sad. After all these months of me pining after you, I’m not even included in your list.”  
  
Hoo-jun feels his breath shorten and his heartbeat quicken. “Your highness, do not say such things in jest. You do not know of what you speak of.”  
  
“Is it surprising?” The prince laughs once more but the sound is more dejected than happy. “Do I repulse you now?”  
  
Hoo-jun isn’t ready for this. He has not thought—that’s a lie. He has thought of impossible things but those were mere broken fragments of _what ifs_ and _what might have beens_. So what does he do? Like a coward, he runs and he hates himself for it. “I am sorry.” Hoo-jun bows and starts for the staircase.  
  
“No, please. Wait,” the prince asks of him, holding onto his arm to stop him. “ _I_ am sorry. That wasn’t what I wanted to say.”  
  
Hoo-jun glances down at the hand clutching onto the fabric of his jacket. It’s trembling and he feels the urge to cover the slender fingers with his own. But the prince lets go before he can even act on it.  
  
“You are free. That was what I meant to say.” Wang-eun sighs. “In the morning, I will tell the Chief of the Guards I no longer need your services so you can go back to your training. Your coming of age isn’t far off, you need it.”  
  
In shock at the prince’s words, Hoo-jun stands there unmoving, mind whirring and terribly disoriented. Unexpectedly, he feels the touch of a cold palm against the side of his face and just as sudden as it started, the clamoring in his head stops. There is nothing else except for the boy standing before him, eyes filled with regret and longing.  
  
“Goodbye, Soldier Hoo-jun.”  
  
With that the prince leaves.  
  
Hoo-jun doesn’t know how he got back. Everything was a blur and the next thing he sees is the sun when it peeks over the horizon outside the window of his room. He’s had no sleep but then there was suddenly nothing to do. There are no horses to prepare for outings, no Suho to summon him outside the tenth prince’s quarters, and no prince to look down his royal nose at him while he assists him on his saddle. There will be no more Prince Wang-eun and there should be a sense of relief but the feeling in his chest leans more towards emptiness.  
  
_Stop it. Get up_ , he tells himself. So he does. He takes out his bow and practices. And he’s never been as great as he was today. Arrow upon arrow, all of his shots hit the black ring. All he sees is the target. The bullseye. There is nothing else. There is no one else.  
  
He doesn’t stop. His hands are swollen, and his fingers are bleeding but Hoo-jun continues to shoot. One after another. Another one. Then another. More. His clothes are soaked with sweat. He’s tired but he’s afraid to stop and feel that emptiness in his chest again.  
  
He aims the arrow at the target, blinking back the sweat that blurs his vision and makes his eyes sting. He stretches the bowstring back but the tax Hoo-jun has put on it throughout the day pushes it to its limit and it breaks. Hoo-jun throws the weapon aside and bends over forward, gasping. Every part of him hurts.  
  
“Jeong Hoo-jun.”  
  
Hoo-jun straightens and sees Suho standing a few feet away.  
  
“Please,” Suho tells him, face filled with worry. “Please come with me.”  
  
The taller male doesn’t know what to think of this summon but this would have to do something with the tenth prince. He follows the manservant without delay and he’s guided towards the main courtyard. Hoo-jun finds himself with a group of palace guards who were standing at attention and listening to their leader sitting atop a horse.  
  
“... horse got scared and threw the prince off…”  
  
Fear grips Hoo-jun’s heart as he listens. _No, it can’t be._  
  
“... and headed off the path to the east of the river. That’s where we’ll start searching. Let no stone be left untouched. We believe the prince is hurt badly as he would’ve cried for help if he wasn’t. The river’s current is very fast and the tide is high. Let us hope we reach His highness in time. Now let us go!”  
  
The guards get on their horses one by one, riding out of the gates in haste, leaving a dumbfounded Hoo-jun in the courtyard with Suho. “What happened? Tell me exactly what happened!”  
  
“They were on a hunt as you know,” Suho explains, small body shaking. “The prince was only trailing behind as he is not fond of this game. He abhors killing and… but his horse somehow got scared by a deer and it ran wildly away towards the river, taking the prince with him. The guards ran after them but... We… We heard a shout… The guards... They found the horse but Prince Wang-eun… They didn’t,” he ends shakily. Suho grabs on his hands gratefully. “I beg you, find the prince.”

 

"I will find him."  
  
Hoo-jun wastes no time climbing on a horse and heading to the forest in the mountains. He follows the guards to where the hunt took place. He urges his mount to go faster, heart anxious and heavy. _Stay alive_.  
  
He reaches the end of the river and rides as close to it as possible. The path is treacherous, the soil is loose and filled with jagged rocks. The horse slows down against Hoo-jun’s will and his frustration grows every time the animal tries to change direction. It knows the way is becoming even more dangerous and with the rise of the river’s water, it turns more restless, rearing back and stubbornly refusing to move forward. Hoo-jun has no time for this. It’s slower on foot but it’s better than waiting for the horse to calm down.  
  
Hoo-jun alights from the stallion and lets it run to drier land. He’s hoping the other guards have made progress or at least are staying close for when he finds the prince so they can carry him to safety immediately. He continues on foot, not minding the water rushing towards him. If Wang-eun’s unconscious, hopefully, this is the path the water will carry him to.  
  
The river gets colder as the sun begins to set. The water wraps its icy fingers around Hoo-jun’s legs and they’ve started to feel numb but he forges on. The adrenaline that turbulently coursed through his body upon hearing Wang-eun was in danger gives strength to his limbs. He calls out from time to time, desperate to be heard over the violent rush of water. He has not said the prince’s name again since the night he learned it so it should’ve been foreign on his lips but there wasn’t a stutter nor a pause in between syllables. The name flows out as if he’s been saying it countless of times before.  
  
He receives no response and as the day progresses with no sign of the prince, fear takes over. Amidst the cold torrent, Hoo-jun feels two drops of hot tears fall from his eyes. He angrily wipes at them. “Show yourself!” he shouts. “Do not be a coward and run away from me. You cannot disappear!”  
  
_You can’t_ , Hoo-jun thinks despairingly. His vision blurs with more unwanted tears as the hope within him begins to fade. _Please_.  
  
Mayhap someone finally heard his prayers because no sooner than when he uttered his last plea, Hoo-jun sees flashes of blue in the distance, the shade comparable to the eyes on a peacock’s tail. Wang-eun’s favorite. With a sudden boost of energy, Hoo-jun swims to its direction, tenaciously fighting against the current to reach the thing he saw, hoping against hope it’s not merely an object but the person he needs to see the most instead.  
  
A last surge forward brings Hoo-jun directly in the way of the floating object and with an almost gentle wave, the river gods deliver a barely conscious Prince Wang-eun directly into Hoo-jun’s arms. Overwhelming relief bursts in his chest and Hoo-jun draws the prince tightly to him for a second before he drags him to the safety of the shore. He immediately calls out for help while frantically loosening Wang-eun’s riding clothes. The older boy’s body is so cold and he’s trembling badly but Hoo-jun takes it as a good sign for he’s alive. He _is_ alive.  
  
Wang-eun gasps and coughs out water when Hoo-jun releases him from his heavy overcoat. He’s very weak but the prince manages to open his eyes a little. Hoo-jun hovers over him, placing his large palm against Wang-eun’s pale cheek. “Your highness.”  
  
“I heard you call... my name,” Wang-eun says, voice small and breathless.  
  
Hoo-jun wants to lean in and breathe air into his lungs, give him everything he needed. “Do not speak anymore. It’s bad for you. The others are on their way to get us. We’ll get you to the palace in no time and—”  
  
Wang-eun tries to reach up but his hand falls down weakly against his chest. Hoo-jun covers the freezing fingers with his own cold ones, worried because the man in his hold is rapidly losing consciousness.  
  
“I’m... happy,” the prince says.  
  
Hoo-jun shushes him. “I beg you, do not speak. Save your energy for the travel ahead.”  
  
“Soldier Hoo-jun, you lied,” Prince Wang-eun slurs, eyes closing and surrendering to exhaustion. “You do care.”  
  
Hoo-jun lifts the prince’s hand and presses his lips against his palm, eyes closing tightly in defeat.  
  
_I do._  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Seoul, 2017_  
  


 

 

 

 

“I am catching up on my schoolwork, Jongdae, I do not have time to drink and ‘be merry’ tonight,” Baekhyun whispers into his phone, rolling his eyes at his best friend as he peruses the shelf for the book he needed. “We are both in this class. Shouldn’t you be working on this assignment, too?”  
  
“Come on, Baek. There’s still two weeks before the deadline. Live a little,” Jongdae replies with a whine.  
  
Baekhyun shakes his head. “Kim Jongdae, if you fail, no, _when_ you fail this class, don’t say I didn’t warn you… ugh, damnit.”  
  
Jongdae sharply draws a breath. “Byun Baekhyun how dare you curse at me!”  
  
“Shut up, it’s not you.” Baekhyun sighs heavily. “I’ve been trying to get reference material for my research but all the books I need are all out.”  
  
“Don’t tell me there’s another person as obsessed with ancient Korea as you.”  
  
Baekhyun scowls. “I am not obsessed, Jongdae.”  
  
“Oh, please, Baek, you’ve talked of nothing else. No one makes Goryeo dynasty the subject of their final requirement for Music Appreciation class.” Jongdae teases then abruptly becomes serious. “You’ve been out of the camp for a while now but we feel you’re still inside. Come back to us, Baekhyunnie.”  
  
There are a lot of things Baekhyun wanted to tell his best friend at that second—how he wants to live in the moment, be the young, exuberant man he was and enjoy his life to the fullest but it’s hard when those dreams plague him, when he feels restless because his mind tells him there’s something missing he has to find—but he knows it isn’t the right time. So Baekhyun brushes his friend’s concern off with some inane reply, promising to go out with Jongdae before the term ends.  
  
The other male lets him off again, as what he is wont to do and Baekhyun ends the call with a tired sigh. He makes his way to the librarian’s desk, deciding to ask for assistance with alternative books he could use. There isn’t a long line there, only one other student in fact, as it’s pretty late into the day and most of the classes have already ended. Baekhyun stands behind the guy talking to the librarian, lowkey jealous of his height. He mentally estimates how tall he is, thinking he’s been seeing a number of tall guys recently and fancifully wondering if the world is evolving and if he has a chance to evolve with it. A few centimeters more to his height wouldn’t hurt.  
  
The student finishes and thanks the old woman behind the desk, sounding like he just got up from bed, words rough and low, making Baekhyun suddenly think of long nights spent in a lover’s embrace—warm and hot and passionate.  
  
_What the hell?!_  
  
Baekhyun rubs his eyes to push the inappropriate thoughts away, finding the librarian looking up questioningly at him from her seat when he opens them. The male student in front of him was gone. Baekhyun looks over his shoulder and sees the taller guy heading for the doors.  
  
“May I help you?”  
  
He’s so absorbed with the guy’s retreating back that he’s a little startled with the old librarian’s question. He tears his eyes away from the other man and focuses his attention to the lady. “Oh, yes, I’m wondering if—” Baekhyun stops mid-question when he notices the books on the table. They’re the ones he needed. “Ma’am, are those books available to lend out?”  
  
“These? Yes,” the woman answers. “You’re lucky. They just got returned by the student before you.”  
  
“May I…?” Baekhyun asks, gesturing to the books.  
  
“Sure, knock yourself out, young man,” the kindly librarian says with a smile, handing him the books. “Just be sure to fill out the form at the back so I can record and you can take them home.”  
  
Baekhyun nods and accepts the books, carrying them to the nearby table and sitting down. He flips through the first book in the pile and opens it to the last page. He finds the borrower’s list and, curious, he reads the last name written on it. It’s familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Baekhyun traces the impatient handwriting with the tip of his finger. An indescribable sense of longing makes him pause.  
  
There is a ghost of a feeling, of large hands covering his own and cold lips grazing his palm, making him close his hand to chase the sensation. It’s gone at the next breath and what remains is the emptiness that plagues him every time he wakes up each morning.  
  
_Where are you?_  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Goryeo, 1169_  
  


 

 

 

 

Hoo-jun is anxious to leave the house and go to the tenth prince’s residence. He has been going there every day for the past two weeks, checking up on the prince’s health after the accident. The servants and the people around the palace told him Prince Wang-eun is recovering well but Hoo-jun is getting frustrated. The younger man has not seen him since they were able to get him home from the hunt. Suho always says that his master is resting or his highness is sleeping and shouldn’t be disturbed.  
  
He understands but it’s ridiculous how Hoo-jun can’t even get one glimpse of the other boy. He just wants to be sure if the prince is really as well as they claimed him to be. He wants to see if the healthy color is back in his lips and cheeks to dispel the scary image of him by the river, pale and frail in his arms. He wants to know. He _needs_ to know.  
  
Hoo-jun decides to forgo breakfast. He’ll set out extra early today and try his luck. Hopefully, at this time Prince Wang-eun will have just finished his own breakfast and his caretakers will be amenable to grant Hoo-jun an audience with him. He’s almost out the door, though, when Sehun catches up with him to tell him General Jeong wanted to break the fast with his son.  
  
Hoo-jun’s torn. There’re precious minutes to lose if he stays to eat but then again, it’s rare nowadays to be able to talk to his father much less share a meal with him. Hoo-jun turns back and goes to his father’s room where the general is already having his first cup of jasmine tea.  
  
“Good morning, father,” he greets the older man, sitting on the floor across from him.  
  
“My son, I feel like it has been ages since we last sat down like this,” General Jeong says with a wide grin. “Eat and put muscles in your bones. I see you’ve lost much weight since coming here. Have you not been faring well?”  
  
“I am good, father,” Hoo-jun answers, picking up the utensils from the table and complying with his father’s urging to eat. He feels strange. From General Jeong’s smile and watchful eyes, Hoo-jun can tell this isn’t a simple invitation to a meal.  
  
It only takes a few bites before the general speaks again, confirming what Hoo-jun believes. “I heard you have been going to the residences of Lady Mu-bin’s son.”  
  
Hoo-jun pauses. Putting down his food, he looks his father straight on. “Yes, I have been.”  
  
“You’ve already been released as his personal guard,” the general says the title with distaste, “Is the tenth prince a friend?” he asks, seeming offhandedly but Hoo-jun knows his father. He wouldn’t ask if the answer wasn’t important.  
  
The younger male gives a firm shake of his head. “No, father. I merely wanted to make sure that he is all right. There was an accident several days ago—”  
  
“Ah, yes, I have heard of it.” General Jeong nods. “An accident just because of a stupid game of hunt. Still, I am certain the prince has been attended to by all the best physicians of the land. Surely, you don’t need to go there every day.”  
  
Hoo-jun picks up the warning in his father’s statement. _Do not see the tenth prince anymore_. He knows it's a sound advice but a tiny bud of rebellion at the order blooms in his chest. He suppresses it. “I will be going for the last time today.”  
  
His father looks at him for a moment, weighing his answer, then the old man nods. “Very well,” he says with a great sigh. “Hoo-jun, I don’t want you to feel as if I am stopping you from doing things that you want, this palace is a prison enough as it is. There is still unrest within the people and it grows stronger every day. All I want is for you to be careful especially when dealing with _them_.”  
  
“Yes, father,” Hoo-jun replies. “I am careful.”  
  
General Jeong beams at his son and urges him to eat more. Hoo-jun complies, the promise he just made unexpectedly heavy in his chest. Today will be the last time he will try to see the prince. If he doesn’t see him, then it was not meant to be. He will go on his way with a clear conscience and the knowledge that the prince is all right. Perhaps he will never see or talk to him again and there is nothing wrong with that. He is poised to be a warrior and Wang-eun is a prince. Their paths shouldn’t have even crossed anyway.  
  
Yet after all that resolve, Hoo-jun doesn’t quite know what to feel when he reaches the prince’s quarters and he finds out that Wang-eun is ‘out on a ride’ with Lady Kim, a high-council member’s daughter. This was his last chance to see the tenth prince and he wasn’t there. All the way back to his house, Hoo-jun repeatedly tells himself it’s all right but there’s some uncomfortable feeling in his gut that he can’t shake off. Is the prince even well enough to go out? He frowns in worry imagining Wang-eun forcing himself to get up to fulfill what must surely be a dictate from the King in his selfish bid to have his son married off.  
  
“Hyung,” Sehun greets him by the door. The boy holds up a small cloth-wrapped package. “I’m glad you’re back. I’d like to ask for permission to go out for a bit. I was asked to run on an errand.”  
  
“Go on,” Hoo-jun nods absently, mind still on the prince.  
  
“I wish the Lady Kim has nice-looking attendants or all that walking will be for nothing,” Sehun mumbles on his way out.  
  
Hoo-jun takes a pause and turns to look at Sehun. “What did you say?”  
  
“Oh, I said, I wished the attendants look nice today,” Sehun answers, a little embarrassed.  
  
“Where are you going exactly?”  
  
“Ah, yes, Suho-hyung has been asking me to bring some of my mother’s rice cakes when Prince Wang-eun goes on his outings. My cousin wants them freshly-cooked and warm when served so he asks me to bring them at a later time.”  
  
Hoo-jun’s attention gets caught by that tidbit. “You are going to where they are right now?”  
  
“Yes,” Sehun replies.  
  
He should not care about that information, Hoo-jun thinks. It’s finished. When he wasn’t able to meet the prince earlier, he was supposed to be free. But Hoo-jun finds himself tagging along with Sehun, much to the younger one’s befuddlement and surprise. Even on foot, it doesn't take long for the two of them to reach the small lake where the prince’s party is. There were guards manning the place but they let Hoo-jun and Sehun pass, recognizing them. The servants were standing in a group some distance away from Wang-eun and his companion, an elegantly dressed young lady who was smiling prettily as she strolled beside him.  
  
Hoo-jun stops and positions himself by the horses while Sehun proceeds to hand over the food to his cousin. Suho gratefully receives the package but scowls when he finally notices Hoo-jun standing several meters away. He questions Sehun about his presence while he continues to scowl disapprovingly but Hoo-jun does not see. His attention is focused solely on Prince Wang-eun.  
  
He looks healthy, smiling just as prettily at the girl beside him. The color in his cheeks is high and he appears to have recovered well from the accident. The longer Hoo-jun stares at the prince, the faster the relief he is feeling disappears. It’s replaced by a darker, uglier emotion, one that makes his hands fist and the veins in his temple throb.  
  
After all these weeks of worrying about his well-being and not fully believing his servants when they said Wang-eun is well, the tenth prince—who was always resting and had no time to see Hoo-jun—turns out to be healthy enough to go on rides out of the palace alongside a dainty lady while wooing her with his graceful gestures and bright smiles.  
  
Hoo-jun is mad. Somewhere in his heart, he knows he has no right to be. It’s beyond ridiculous to feel this way yet he cannot help himself. How can Wang-eun look as if he was so happy with her when Hoo-jun is right there worrying about him?  
  
He watches sharply as Prince Wang-eun and Lady Kim reach the end of the path and turn back towards them. Hoo-jun is anticipating the moment the prince looks his way and sees him. With contempt, he wonders what his reaction would be to know the person he clearly is avoiding was right there and is itching for a confrontation. He doesn’t have to wait long.  
  
Hoo-jun catches the second Prince Wang-eun sees him. The smaller male stiffens and the grin he’s wearing freezes. His eyes widen and he looks away quickly, trying to hide his surprise with a smile to the girl next to him. In another second, he has schooled his features into a calm mask and when he next looks towards Hoo-jun’s direction, it's as if he wasn’t fazed by his presence at all.  
  
Suho directs the prince and the lady to the low table and blankets they’ve set up under the shade of a large maple tree. The female attendants start to serve them the rice cakes from Sehun’s mother. The prince takes a bite and he nods approvingly.  
  
“Delicious as always,” he comments, urging Lady Kim to taste it as well. He turns to Suho. “You should thank your aunt for always making them for me.”  
  
“You are most gracious, your highness.” Suho bows and then points to his cousin a few steps behind him. “Sehun, here, made sure to deliver it promptly so it can be served to you warm as you like it.”  
  
“Thank you, Sehun,” Wang-eun says peeking at the young boy.  
  
“Always my ple-pleasure, your highness,” Sehun stammers, flustered at being directly addressed by the prince. “My mother makes them especially delicious for you, my prince, and she says she’ll continue to make them as much as you want. I-I walked really fast to get here and came with my young master and if you would like more I can...” Sehun nervously rambles on while, drawn like magnets, Hoo-jun sees Prince Wang-eun’s eyes go to him again before rapidly turning his attention back on the boy fidgeting before him.  
  
Suho gently pats his cousin’s shoulder, saving him from twisting himself further into knots talking to Wang-eun. He quietly signals for him to be on his way, and Sehun looks gratefully at him. The servant boy goes to where Hoo-jun is, expecting his master to come home with him but the taller man tells him he’s staying.  
  
“You go first, Sehun. I have matters to attend to,” Hoo-jun says, eyes still pinned on the prince.  
  
Sehun makes his way back towards the palace, throwing puzzled glances at Hoo-jun as he walks away. Hoo-jun remains standing where he is, watching the prince closely.  
  
_How long do you intend to ignore me, your highness?_  
  
As if hearing Hoo-jun’s thoughts, Prince Wang-eun stands up suddenly, making everyone around him stand up in haste, too. Hoo-jun hears him apologize to the lady, saying some excuse of him not feeling well. Suho quickly goes to the prince’s side, asking if he needed assistance but Wang-eun refuses.  
  
“I think I ate too quickly. I would need to walk this off,” Wang-eun says. “I had a good morning, thank you, Lady Kim. Please have my most trusted assistant, Suho, accompany you back to the palace.”  
  
It looks like the lady and his manservant wanted to refuse but Prince Wang-eun gave them no opportunity to. Knowing that going to the horses will put him directly in Hoo-jun’s presence, the prince immediately strides to the stone bridge over the lake where a small pavilion stands at the other end.  
  
The prince is running away and Hoo-jun wouldn’t have it.  
  
There were two burly guards following behind Prince Wang-eun and when they see Hoo-jun advancing, they quickly stand their ground and stop him from going further.  
  
“I need to speak with the prince,” Hoo-jun says.  
  
“He wishes to be alone,” one guard answers firmly.  
  
“It won’t take long. I promise.”  
  
“Leave, boy, the prince doesn’t want company,” the same guard replies, forcefully holding onto Hoo-jun’s arm.  
  
Hoo-jun turns to the other guard. The older man knows the general’s son and has been on duty with him on several occasions. “If you could just ask him, please. I will abide by the prince’s answer no matter what it is.”  
  
The man nods after some thought and he goes inside the pavilion. It takes a few moments but when the guard comes out, it’s to call Hoo-jun and grant him permission to talk with the tenth prince. Relieved, Hoo-jun takes a deep breath before he climbs the pavilion’s stone steps, glancing back at the two guards some feet away who were standing with their backs to the entrance, affording Hoo-jun some privacy for the meeting he needed to have with the prince.  
  
There were a thousand and one things he wanted to say to Wang-eun—some in hurt, others in confusion, several in anger. Remembering why they are in this lonely old pavilion, he wants to rage at the prince for the games he plays, the rules of which Hoo-jun can barely understand. He wanted to get answers, here and now, for what’s happening to him and why he can’t get Wang-eun off his mind; demand explanations on why knowing the prince is well became so important to him when he shouldn’t have cared at all.  
  
But the sight of the other boy standing at the far-side of the room, looking out at the placid lake effectively steals whatever words he wanted to say. Wang-eun is finally close enough to talk to, a few steps and he can touch. He is heartbreakingly beautiful and Hoo-jun is breathless.  
  
The prince straightens when he realizes he’s not alone anymore. He isn’t smiling, not like he was doing earlier. He wraps his arms around his middle like an armor, eyeing Hoo-jun with wariness. “I thought you wished to speak to me.”  
  
Hoo-jun enters the room with slow and deliberate footsteps, sensing that the prince will bolt at any small provocation. “You are well.”  
  
“Indeed, I am,” Prince Wang-eun answers curtly. “Is that it?”  
  
No. That wasn’t all Hoo-jun wanted to say. But where does he start when he’s very much confused himself?  
  
Wang-eun shakes his head and wordlessly walks past Hoo-jun towards the entrance. Without thinking, the taller man’s hand shoots out to catch the prince by the arm, stopping him from leaving.  
  
“Let go.”  
  
Hoo-jun’s temper rises at the command uttered in a toneless, disinterested voice. He pulls the smaller man close, simultaneously backing him into a corner, where they are safe from view. The prince glances up at him with surprise and then with indignation for being manhandled.  
  
“Are you so eager to be rid of me?” Hoo-jun asks with a hint of frustration in his voice, stepping even closer and giving Prince Wang-eun no chance to escape. “Weren’t you the one who kept appearing before me?”  
  
“That was before,” Wang-eun answers, looking away.  
  
“Before what?”  
  
Hoo-jun can feel the other man’s body deflate against him. Wang-eun appears troubled, young and vulnerable in his arms. His soft lips are parted in bewilderment and the need to protect him at all cost rises within Hoo-jun once again.  
  
“Answer me,” the taller male says gruffly, trying hard to disguise the tenderness he’s feeling with the demand. _Look at me._  
  
“Let me go,” Wang-eun retorts.  
  
“I…” _I can’t._  
  
He won’t let go of Wang-eun and the realization isn’t even a surprise. Deep down he has always known it. How can he even fight against this when the first time he saw him, Hoo-jun felt he was gifted the stars? In Wang-eun’s eyes he saw the light he has been looking for since his own vision was covered by the black ashes of his past. What he feels is forbidden but how can he keep himself away?  
  
There is silence as he gazes down at the prince; at the man who makes him forget who he is and what he shouldn’t want. “By the river… what you said was true.”  
  
“I do not remember,” the prince says in a shaky whisper.  
  
_You lie. Look at me._ Hoo-jun catches the prince’s stubborn chin between his fingers and turns his face up so he can stare at his eyes and Wang-eun can see the truth in his. “I do care,” he says, closing the distance between them. “I care a lot.”  
  
Then Hoo-jun surrenders with his eyes wide open. He draws Wang-eun into his embrace and he captures the prince’s mouth with his. Hoo-jun thinks this must be what heaven tastes like and then he stops thinking altogether when he feels Wang-eun’s lips soften and slot more fully into his. He knows he’s breaking all the rules with every kiss but he can no longer deny himself this. Hoo-jun pulls away an inch only to plant smaller kisses to the corner of Wang-eun’s mouth, his cheek, his jaw, moving up to his ear where he softly says his name and begs for an answer.  
  
_“Please.”_  
  
Hoo-jun waits and waits but he hears nothing more than Wang-eun’s short, quick breaths. He’s holding him so close, that he can feel the prince’s thundering heartbeat against his own. This can’t be just his imagination. He knows Wang-eun feels the same. He must. And yet the silence lengthens and Hoo-jun begins to doubt.  
  
It is difficult, still, he forces himself to loosen his hold and to step away from the other man. But a hand suddenly pulls him down firmly by the nape, while another one wraps tightly around his waist, staying him in place.  
  
“You cannot take it back,” Wang-eun finally says.  
  
Exhaling in relief, Hoo-jun buries his face against the crook of the smaller man’s neck, breathing his scent in. “I have no intention to.”  
  
“Kiss me again,” the prince commands but it’s him who cups Hoo-jun’s face with both his hands and tiptoes eagerly to reach his lips. And it’s so much different than all the other kisses Hoo-jun has experienced before. These are not chaste kisses from the village girls back home.  
  
Wang-eun kisses him like the prince he is—demanding, spoiled, greedy. No sooner than one ends, another and then another one begins and Hoo-jun can feel himself being consumed by the same emotions. He wants Wang-eun. All of him. All to himself.  
  
He holds back a groan when Wang-eun breaks the kiss. Hoo-jun’s breathing hard as he tries to gain control of himself while Wang-eun gasps against his lips.  
  
“You are mine,” Wang-eun declares breathlessly, eyes so bright and barely able to contain the joyous laughter in his voice.  
  
“Yes,” Hoo-jun replies solemnly and then he boldly returns the same declaration. “You are mine.”  
  
“Maybe,” the prince teases though when he sees the disapproving frown beginning to gather in between Hoo-jun’s brows, Wang-eun turns serious, and presses a solid _yes_ against Hoo-jun’s lips.  
  
They kiss once more and steal whatever time they could. They aren’t sure what’s in store for them tomorrow, both knowing full well that outside the small pavilion there is a whole world against a prince falling in love with a would-be soldier; a man with another man. But inside, protected from prying eyes, there is only now and there is only them.  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Seoul, 2017_  
  


 

 

 

 

Baekhyun really hates the cold. He wraps the thick blanket more securely around him, shuddering a little as the heavy wind hits the window of his studio apartment and rattles it in its frame. Just thinking about going outside tomorrow for his classes scares him and the first snow hasn’t even fallen yet.  
  
His mom has asked him to come home this weekend for a get together with his aunt and cousins but Baekhyun opted out. It’s too cold to go out there and come back to his apartment again. He appeases his mother’s ire with a promise to spend all of winter break at home. He’ll hole up in his room there and never come out. There’s only a week left of classes anyway. Only a few days more of braving the chilly November air.  
  
He continues reading the book on his lap, a thin volume on Astronomy and myths. If his best friend sees him now, he’ll definitely roll his eyes at Baekhyun and nag on him to go out again. But he’s already so comfy in his sweats and bunny socks, no force on Earth can get him away from his bed and book.  
  
As if the thought had summoned Jongdae, Baekhyun hears someone knocking on his apartment door. The calls of ‘Byun Baekhyun, I know you’re in there!’ confirms his best friend’s identity.  
  
“No one’s home!” Baekhyun yells back. He then hears the click of the door unlocking and he groans. “Why bother knocking if you knew the password anyway?”  
  
Jongdae makes his way inside and pauses beside the bed, nudging it with a foot. “Why didn’t you open the door? It’s so cold outside.”  
  
“Exactly,” Baekhyun answers, closing his book and giving the other guy a long-suffering look.  
  
“Baekhyun, you’re starting to look and sound like the old auntie who lives across from me,” Jongdae says, shaking his head. “Do you want me to perm your hair to complete the look?”  
  
Baekhyun falls on his back with a sigh. “What do you want?”  
  
“You know I’m your best friend and I know you don’t mean to drive me away but I’m starting to feel hurt,” Jongdae admits quietly.  
  
The older male quickly sits up and pulls his friend down by the arm to sit beside him on the bed. “I’m sorry,” Baekhyun apologizes, letting go of Jongdae and burying his face in his hands. “I’m really sorry.”  
  
“Baekhyun, please talk to me. No matter how crazy it may be, you know I’ll listen.”  
  
“But it is so crazy,” Baekhyun says, turning to his friend. “I don’t understand any of it.”  
  
“Then let’s solve it together. I’m not as dumb as you. We can work it out,” Jongdae answers, pulling at Baekhyun’s ear.  
  
“There is… I’ve been having these dreams,” he begins, unsure of how to tell his friend everything. “It’s always the same thing but it also isn’t. I dream of a boy… and he’s someone I’ve never seen before. But he’s always there, every night, looking at me… smiling at me… sometimes, he’s angry at something I did, the other times…” Baekhyun drifts off embarrassed, remembering the dreams where he and the boy touched, when there are kisses and so much more.  
  
“The other times what?” Jongdae asks, noticing the way Baekhyun’s face reddened. “Is he cute?”  
  
Baekhyun hits Jongdae in the arm. “What kind of question is that?!”  
  
Jongdae hits back. “Yah! It was a perfectly valid question. I wasn’t the one blushing like a schoolgirl thinking about his first love.”  
  
“It’s not like that.”  
  
“Then what?” Jongdae asks seriously. “Do you like him, the boy in your dreams?”  
  
“I don’t!” Baekhyun denies. But then he recalls the longing he feels when it’s morning and he wakes up alone in bed. “I don’t know.”  
  
_I don’t know if I like him… love him. But I’m pretty sure, in my dreams, he loved me._  
  
Jongdae finds his hand and squeezes it reassuringly. “Maybe he’s someone you saw at camp?”  
  
“No, Jongdae,” Baekhyun says, miserable. “I’m sure of it.”  
  
His best friend pats his hand before letting go and getting something from his pant’s pocket. “I just realized how useless I really am as a friend. But I am good at something and that is having fun. Now, before you say no, hear me out first.” He reclaims Baekhyun’s hand and he puts a piece of card on his open palm. “This is a ticket to an exhibit on campus this Friday night. It’s the last day of classes and I know you won’t go home until Saturday morning. Give it a try, Baek. I know you’ll love it.”  
  
“Okay,” Baekhyun nods though he knows he most likely won’t.  
  
Jongdae beams at him. “All right! I expect to see your runny nose tomorrow in class. Seriously, it’s not even full winter yet and you’re already a shivering mess.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
The other guy doesn’t stay long. With a last reminder for him to go to the exhibit, Jongdae’s out the door, leaving Baekhyun alone again in his studio apartment. He sighs and looks down at the ticket in his hand.  
  
_The Mythology of Stars,_ the title of the exhibit read. Baekhyun smiles and shakes his head at his friend.  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Goryeo, 1169_  
  


 

 

 

 

November that year makes its presence known in a gentle fashion, at least that's what Hoo-jun believes. It delicately blew away the wetness of the rainy season with its cold winds and dried the trees down to their brittle trunks and branches, leaving the earth in dull colors of black and brown. It still looks beautiful to Hoo-jun. Then again, nowadays, everything seems beautiful to him.  
  
It is mainly because of the wonderful boy who, he might say, is sorely late tonight. Hoo-jun leans on his elbows while he gazes out of the viewing window of the Astronomy tower. There’s a small grin on his lips, recalling the days since they confessed their feelings. Oh, how glorious, they were.  
  
It is no easy task, hiding their relationship from everyone—not when one is the son of the King and the other of the Chief of Staff. There are always soldiers around Hoo-jun, training him and training with him, while Wang-eun is constantly surrounded by the nobility and his attendants who stick to him like glue. But they make do. Every night, here inside the tower room, they meet secretly as lovers. And for a time, for a space, there is nothing to separate them.  
  
Hoo-jun hears the light, excited footsteps coming quickly towards him but before he can straighten up to greet the newcomer, he feels two slender arms wrap around his waist from behind and squeeze him breathless.  
  
“I think somebody is late,” Hoo-jun says, looking over his shoulder at the young prince bound to his back.  
  
“I missed you,” Wang-eun replies, voice muffled against the fabric of Hoo-jun’s clothes.  
  
The general’s son feels a kiss pressed against the center of his shoulder blades before the prince tightens his hold further, almost lifting Hoo-jun from the floor with the fervor of his embrace. Sometimes, when Wang-eun makes himself comfortable inside Hoo-jun’s arms, the taller one forgets that he's a strong, young man much like himself. But it’s at moments like these that the taller boy is reminded that, although short of stature, Prince Wang-eun is no doubt male—graceful and brash at the same time. Unlike the blushing maids who tried to lure him before with the softness of the bodies and the promises behind their rouged lips, Prince Wang-eun seduces him easily with his wide, candid smiles and his bright, intelligent eyes. Hoo-jun is no match against Wang-eun’s rippling laughter and when he holds him close, he is ready to give him the world.  
  
Hoo-jun turns in the prince’s arms and catches his expressive face in his palms. He wants to tell everyone, announce it in words loud and clear, “This is the man I love and he is the man who loves me.” But the world outside is cruel and unforgiving so he closes the gap between their lips, instead, and kisses Wang-eun so at the very least the prince will know just how much he adores him.  
  
“You are very passionate today, I see,” Wang-eun whispers teasingly. “You have missed me that much?”  
  
“Every second I cannot see you, it seems,” Hoo-jun professes unabashedly.  
  
“Do not worry I am the same,” the smaller male says, moving even closer and tucking himself under Hoo-jun’s chin.  
  
“Where were you?”  
  
“I visited the grave of a dear friend,” Wang-eun answers with a deep sigh. “He is my best friend. The only one I had.”  
  
“I am sorry,” Hoo-jun drops a reassuring kiss on top of the prince’s head. “What was his name?” he asks, wanting to add him to his prayers at night.  
  
“Pig.”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
Wang-eun chuckles at the incredulity he heard in his lover’s voice. He lifts his head from Hoo-jun’s chest and nuzzles his jaw. “Pig was a stray mongrel I saved from drowning when I was twelve. He was born deformed, missing one hind leg, and I think the owner wanted to be rid of him so he threw him into a small gully behind the North gate. I was a mischievous boy and it was my habit to walk on top of the stone walls and while there, I heard him cry for help. Then I saved him. You see, I am not as weak as you think I am.”  
  
“I never thought you were weak,” Hoo-jun denies, out of breath as Wang-eun continues to drive him a little out of his mind with every feathery kiss on his skin. He’s not sure if the prince was doing it consciously, but he can feel Wang-eun’s soft lips graze his collarbones, realizing then that as he tells his story, he was slowly loosening Hoo-jun’s shirt.  
  
“Spoiled, then.” Wang-eun hums absently, letting his pretty fingers slide inside the opening of Hoo-jun’s clothes. “Useless.”  
  
“I’ve already changed my mind.”  
  
“I’m glad,” the prince says, continuing his ministrations, nodding in approval when the knot on the belt around Hoo-jun’s waist gives. “How goes your training?”  
  
“It is going very well… What are you doing?” Hoo-jun almost exclaims. He sucks in a surprised breath when he feels Wang-eun’s hand on his stomach, discovering his shirt is now completely open and his chest is bare to the other man’s appreciative gaze.  
  
“Touching you,” the tenth prince answers frankly. “Is it not allowed?”  
  
“It’s not that,” Hoo-jun replies, thoughts scattered because Wang-eun doesn’t stop running his hands over the planes of his abdomen, dipping here and there, fingers hot on his naked skin.  
  
“Then what?” the other man asks. “There are already so many laws forbidding our love outside of this room. Here… isn’t this our sanctuary?”  
  
“Yes,” Hoo-jun says, helpless to deny Wang-eun. Still, he tries. “But we don’t have to do this. You know full well how much I adore you.”  
  
“And I, you. But I want this.” Wang-eun becomes bolder and pushes Hoo-jun’s shirt completely off his shoulders. “For tonight, there are only two rules.” With an inviting look, the prince takes off his own shirt and lets it fall to the ground, unwavering eyes never leaving the younger man’s. “I touch you,” he says, lifting Hoo-jun’s hand and placing it against his own smooth chest. “You touch me.”  
  
Hoo-jun can only have so much self-control. At the feel of Wang-eun’s body beneath his fingertips, Hoo-jun abandons whatever misgivings he has. With a growl, he snatches the prince into his arms and plies his mouth with raw, searing kisses, demanding entrance and not giving a chance for retreat, feeling victorious when Wang-eun doesn’t turn pliant, and instead, gives as much as he can, the heat of his lips as scalding as his, if not more.  
  
The taller male continues his sensual assault, and he pushes and pushes, until they reach the table in the middle of the room. Attention only on the boy in his embrace, Hoo-jun swipes away the clutter on the wooden surface, not heeding the parchment and the ink rolling off the sides. He effortlessly lifts Wang-eun up to sit on top, then he finds the space in between his supple thighs and closes in once more, slotting their mouths more passionately than before.  
  
They break the kiss only to come up for air, but loathe to be separated for long, Hoo-jun lets his lips roam down the prince’s neck then up towards his bared shoulders, tasting the tiny moles peppering his body like constellations. Every inch of him is beautiful and Hoo-jun drinks him in like a parched man in the middle of a desert.  
  
Hoo-jun slips off the band that holds Wang-eun’s hair on top of his head and the sable mane spills down like silk, dark and rich against the paleness of his skin. He runs his hand through it, turning Wang-eun’s face up and what he sees in his half-lidded eyes almost drives him to his knees. There is need and want and love, so intense he knows he does not deserve them. But being with Wang-eun has made him want to be selfish and greedy for once.  
  
He loses his breath again when he feels the prince’s hand touch him through the fabric of his pants, the hand feeling firm against his length.  
  
“You want me,” Wang-eun says, part in wonder, part in excitement.  
  
Hoo-jun lets out a startled laugh at that. “I think for the better part of the last hour, I have been doing my best to let you know that.”  
  
The prince looks at him slyly and without another warning, slides his hand down then back up, stroking him unflinchingly. He chuckles when Hoo-jun’s hand clamps on his wrist to stop him. Wang-eun deftly removes the shackle the younger boy has on him before moving his hands to rest against the sides of the other’s neck. “Do you know? I willed this into happening.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“The moment I laid my eyes on you, you had no choice but to love me.” Wang-eun speaks as if in jest, but Hoo-jun can see the solemnity in his dark-brown eyes. “Every time you are within my sight, and even when you’re not, in my head I always pray for you to look and fall in love with me. I’ve repeated it so many times, I’ve lost count.”  
  
“Is that so?” Hoo-jun asks, smiling, powerless to stop the aching tenderness he feels spilling into his voice.  
  
“Indeed.” Wang-eun nods. “The other day you told me that I was the light to save you from the darkness. For me… You are the fire to save me from the cold.”  
  
Hoo-jun envelops the prince’s hands with his. “Have you been cold?”  
  
“All my life,” Wang-eun says, unshed tears making his eyes sparkle. “I hate the cold.”  
  
“Then for as long as you’ll let me, I will warm you,” Hoo-jun promises vehemently.  
  
And he does. He carefully stokes the fire of their passion anew until they were frantic to shed the last of their clothing. At the sight of the prince’s fully naked body, Hoo-jun feels the last of his self-control slip away. The prince wants him just as much as he does and the realization is heady. He touches Wang-eun reverently, hesitant at first but the lustful moans from his lover goads him to do more until they were both panting, drowning in pleasure and gasping for breath.  
  
Wang-eun’s hand clutches onto Hoo-jun’s shoulder, nails biting into his flesh while the other one is behind him, bracing his weight against the table. The younger male wraps his own hands around their lengths, not too experienced but eager to please and reach completion. Wang-eun circles his legs around Hoo-jun’s naked hips, searching for an anchor against the storm of desire they’re in, bodies damp with sweat even as it starts to snow outside.  
  
In a burst of light and fire, Hoo-jun reaches climax the same time Wang-eun cries out in his. The prince lays limp on his back on the table, chest heaving, hair damp and in disarray and Hoo-jun thinks he is still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He leans in and kisses him softly on the lips.  
  
“It was quick but do not worry Soldier Hoo-jun,” Prince Wang-eun says, reassuringly, bewitching grin in place. “We will learn how to love together.” In an unexpected move, Wang-eun pulls himself up and whispers into Hoo-jun’s ear. “Next time… Next time, I will let you inside me and you can do anything that you want.”  
  
Hoo-jun can feel himself hardening at the thought and he groans when Wang-eun slowly thrusts his hips up against him. “Then after that, maybe I’ll be the one ravishing you.”  
  
“Stop,” Hoo-jun says hoarsely, “Or the next time will happen pretty soon.”  
  
“I wouldn’t mind.”  
  
“But Suho would,” Hoo-jun sighs. “It is past midnight. I am sure your loyal attendant is already fretting over himself at the bottom of the stairs.”  
  
“All right,” Wang-eun reluctantly gets up, movements languid and unmindful of his nakedness. “Then I will see you, tomorrow.”  
  
“Yes, tomorrow,” the future soldier says, grinning at the image of his tiny prince hopping about, picking up his garments. Watching him wear his clothes has the same effect on Hoo-jun as the prince disrobing them. The younger boy can only shake his head at his poor, weak self.  
  
“Tomorrow, tomorrow, I will see my lover tomorrow,” Wang-eun sing-songs, dropping a last loud kiss on Hoo-jun’s lips before waving his goodbye and running down the stairs.  
  
The quicksilver transformation from a man intent to seduce to a playful young sprite can leave anyone reeling. Good thing, Hoo-jun is starting to know all of Wang-eun’s sides and is coming to love each and every one of them.  
  
Hoo-jun makes fast work of dressing up and straightening the mess he made in the heat of passion, quietly laughing at himself for his lack of control. Not much time passes before he goes down the tower to go home, so he is surprised to see Wang-eun’s attendant waiting for him at the entrance.  
  
“Suho,” he greets him.  
  
“Jeong Hoo-jun,” Suho greets back with a bow. “I will not take much of your time but I implore you to listen to what I have to say.” At Hoo-jun’s acquiescence, he speaks. “The tenth prince is the person most precious to me.”  
  
At his statement, Hoo-jun can instantly feel jealous anger rise within him.  
  
“I see that has angered you, but do not worry, young soldier, for what I feel is the love of an older brother to his younger one, nothing more,” Suho explains. “But as you have shown me from your reaction, the feelings you carry for him are not. And... perhaps, he feels the same. I have not seen his highness this happy before. For that, at least, I am most grateful to you.”  
  
Hoo-jun does not know what to say so he waits for the other man to continue.  
  
“But this relationship you have can only end in pain and hardship. I do not need to bring up his title and your lack of one. It comes down to the fact that you are a man and so is he. In this society, that is forbidden. If the prince were to suffer because of his regard for you... It is something I cannot accept. So please, if your love for him is true, cease this now.”  
  
The general’s son can feel each word weigh heavily in chest for what Suho was telling was the truth. The conscience he has tried to clamp down, chooses that moment to claw it’s way up and fill him with guilt. Despite that, he stubbornly refuses to leave Wang-eun. The main reason being he simply cannot bear it. “I know what I’m about to say might be laughable to you, but I am Wang-eun’s fire and I promised to not let him feel the cold again. I cannot offer much to him, and I cannot change the circumstances we are in. But I can make him happy and I will do so every day of my life. I will not leave his side. I will protect him at all costs.”  
  
“Those are brave words,” the manservant says. “Also foolish ones.”  
  
“Nevertheless, they are true.”  
  
“For both of you,” Suho watches him with anxious eyes. “I hope so, Jeong Hoo-jun.”  
  
On his walk home, Hoo-jun tries to recall the moments he spent with Wang-eun inside the tower to drive away the bleak thoughts brought about by Suho’s warnings. Hoo-jun just wants to get to his room and sleep so he can dream of Wang-eun until it’s time to wake up for his training at sunrise.  
  
But it appears the night is going to be drawn out for him because no sooner than he enters the gates to his house, General Jeong calls to him, standing in the shadows on the front porch, still in his uniform. He was not alone, the boy Sehun was with him, head bowed and appearing to be shaking in his knees. Sehun looks mighty relieved when he sees Hoo-jun.  
  
“It is late. Where were you?” General Jeong asks, voice booming in the silence of the place.  
  
“I wanted to get some fresh air so I decided to take a walk alone.”  
  
“That isn’t what your attendant told me.” The old man turns to Sehun. “You said Hoo-jun ate out with the other guards. Did you lie?”  
  
“N-no, General, I w-wouldn’t” Sehun says alternately bowing and shaking his head nervously. “I, uh, I…”  
  
“There is no lie in what he said,” Hoo-jun intervenes. “That was what I told him. I changed my mind at the last minute and went out alone.”  
  
General Jeong lets out an impatient sound. “You may leave us, Sehun.”  
  
The servant boy scampers to escape the tense atmosphere, exchanging a quick apologetic glance with Hoo-jun before hurrying inside the house.  
  
“I have tasked that boy to see to your needs and accompany you at all times. It seems he has been amiss with his duties,” the general says disapprovingly. “I shall have him replaced.”  
  
“Father, he is young. He has much to learn.”  
  
“When I was that age I was already fighting for Goryeo,” his father snaps.  
  
“And when I was that age, I’ve already learned that caring for our people comes first,” Hoo-jun returns. “You taught me that.”  
  
“I do not want to argue with you, son. That is not what I want to talk to you about.”  
  
“I do not want to argue with you, too, father. But it’s as if you’ve forgotten why we are here,” Hoo-jun grits out in frustration. “Isn’t our goal to better the people's quality of life? Yet here you are wanting to rid a person his employment for no reason. You are turning into one of them!”  
  
The general, insulted and incensed at the accusation, slaps him with the back of his hand, the force making the younger male step back. Hoo-jun tastes blood from his lower lip. His ears are ringing from the hit but he still clearly hears his father’s next words which are full of contempt.  
  
“I am not the one _cavorting_ with a prince!" General Jeong lashes out. “Do not think I don’t know. The walls have lips, Hoo-jun. They talk. The news spreads and it can kill you as fast as poison does.”  
  
“I am not cavorting with the prince,” Hoo-jun denies but there is no more sense to hide the truth. “I love him.”  
  
“Silence!” his father snarls, face distorted in anger. “Love with another man?” he scoffs. “I did not save you from the fire just for this!”  
  
“Then why did you save me?” Hoo-jun asks bitterly, hurt at the look of derision in his father’s eyes for something he holds dear.  
  
“Because I saw myself in you,” the old man says, suddenly weary. “Because I saw in you the will to fight even when all is lost.”  
  
“So you know I will fight for this, father,” Hoo-jun replies.  
  
“What of your prince? Is he willing to leave his place beside the king and fight for you?” General Jeong questions him. “Do not come at me with your proud words. You don’t yet know the anguish of a parent who knows his child is in grave danger yet can do nothing about it.”  
  
In the ten years since he has lived with the general, this is the first time Hoo-jun has seen his father’s eyes dampen with tears. His own vision blurs and his throat tightens. “I do not wish for you to carry this burden because of me.”  
  
“We do not share the same blood but you are my son. How can a father abandon his child?”  
  
“I do not know what to do, father,” Hoo-jun asks, dispirited. “Is it so wrong for me to love him?”  
  
“I do not know everything, Hoo-junah.” The way the general said his name brings Hoo-jun back to his youth. It has been years since his father called him that. “But you are still so young. You both are. In a few years, who knows if these feelings you claim to have will be gone?”  
  
No, Hoo-jun is sure they wouldn’t. Like water, like air, Wang-eun is essential to him. A future without him is barren and bleak. Just thinking about it is torture, as if he is a man on a rack, absolute pain slowly draining the life from his body. And in his agony, he cannot stop Suho’s words from haunting him.  
  
_This relationship you have can only end in pain and hardship… So please, if your love for him is true, cease this now._  
  
Can he truly protect him? If not seeing Wang-eun means the prince’s safety then should he let him go? The answers won’t come to him and Hoo-jun can only stand there paralyzed, heart gripped by fear and despair.  
  
“On the day of your coming of age, the King is holding a tournament, that is what I wanted to tell you.” Hoo-jun looks up at his father questioningly. “He asked for a champion from my house and I volunteered. King Uijong merely laughed at my face. No, he told me, he wants my son.”  
  
“I will compete well for you, father,” Hoo-jun vows. At least, this he can do for the general. “All I need to do is win.”  
  
“Forget winning. What you need to do is to live,” Jeong Jung-bu says. “You’re a soldier reaching far above himself and plucking a prince from the royal family tree. He wants you dead.”  
  
“The king knows?” Hoo-jun’s head reels at the ramifications of what his father revealed.  
  
“He is a selfish man. He may not treat the tenth prince as his son, but he _owns_ him.” The general walks over to his son and lays a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You have a few days to think.”  
  
Hoo-jun is left alone in the small courtyard, unmoving, until he feels the first rays of the sun hit his face. He closes his eyes and a tear falls but he quickly wipes it away. If he faces certain death, then so be it. But his bright young prince will not know pain.  
  
The archer doesn’t need more days to think. He already knows what to do.  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Seoul, 2017_  
  


 

 

 

 

Doing last minute food buying is a pain the ass and Baekhyun is certainly dressed for the occasion. It’s already reaching the negatives outside, at least that’s what the student believes because even with his thick gloves on, he can no longer feel his fingers.  
  
He doesn’t get how anyone can be so cheery this morning, Christmas is still more than a month away and it can’t be easy walking the streets in thermal clothes and bulky coats to ward off the chill. He hates the cold, he can’t say this enough, and he also hates having to walk several blocks in four layers of clothing, not even counting the scarf around his neck. Sadly, he can’t function outside the house in anything less.  
  
His head is covered with a large beanie pulled way down over his forehead so it can also conceal his freezing ears. He has on a mask to hide his button nose and the lower part of his face. Truly, he looks like an oversized penguin out to wreak havoc on the innocent people who happen to be in his way while he walks the streets with a bag of groceries in one hand.  
  
It is no surprise then that there will eventually be a casualty along the way, Baekhyun being the fluffy wreckingball he is at the moment. The hit, when it happens, pushes the college freshman on his back and scatters his microwave meals on the pavement. His clothes offer enough cushion for the fall not to hurt but it doesn’t seem to be the case for the other person.  
  
Baekhyun can hear the guy grunt in pain—well, he thinks it’s a guy. He can’t see yet because he can’t get up. His bulky clothes won’t let him. So maybe, he’ll just spend the rest of his days there, lying on the cold cement until someone finds it in their heart to save him.  
  
“Are you alright?” a gruff voice asks.  
  
Baekhyun isn’t sure if it’s the cold or something else that makes him shudder. “I’m not dead, I think.”  
  
“That’s good.”  
  
“I can use a little help, though,” Baekhyun says, closing his eyelids to stop the morning sun from poking his eyes blind.  
  
A few seconds later, he hears the guy speak again. “Okay, give me your hand.”  
  
Baekhyun opens his eyes a little and he sees a large hand waving in front of his face. He doesn’t clearly see what the owner looks like since the stranger was wearing a cap and he was standing against the sunlight. All Baekhyun can make out were the funny looking ears sticking out from the sides of his head. They were huge.  
  
“Are you sure you’re not dead?”  
  
Baekhyun blinks, realizing he has been staring for a good while now. For a second there, he thinks he saw a pair of dark brown eyes looking down at him. But that’s impossible. He only sees them in his dreams. “You know what? I’m not sure.”  
  
The other male chuckles. “Come on, now. Let’s help you up.”  
  
Baekhyun raises both his arms and the guy grabs on to his hands, pulling him up on his feet in one try. Now standing, he looks down at his food in dismay because there’s no way he can retrieve them when he can’t even bend his legs. To his embarrassment, the tall stranger starts to pick his groceries up, correctly guessing his problem. There isn’t much to gather as winter break is coming and he only needs a few days’ worth of meals.  
  
Still, Baekhyun can feel himself blush when the guy hands the plastic bag over to him. He is useless.  
  
“I shall thus be known as Sir Chanyeol, Savior of Dumplings and Instant Curry Rice.”  
  
“I’m... sorry?”  
  
The tall boy, _Chanyeol_ , shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”  
  
“Oh, um,” Baekhyun starts shyly, “Thank you for the help and I’m so so sorry for bumping into you. I’m a bumping hazard. I tend to bump on people these days,” he rambles on.  
  
“It’s okay. I wasn’t focusing on where I was going, either.” To Baekhyun’s surprise, the other boy steps close and peers curiously at his face. “Hey... have we met before?”  
  
“I'm not sure.”  
  
“Your eyes…” the boy trails off, staring.

"My eyes?"  

"Yes. Are you sure we haven't met?"

“I…” Baekhyun would’ve said more but they’re both startled when a phone suddenly rings.  
  
Chanyeol turns away a little and takes out his mobile from his pants pocket. Baekhyun sees a folded white envelope fall out from his jeans unnoticed.  
  
“Hey, yeah, I’m just a few blocks away,” the stranger says on the phone. “What…?! Holy sh--okay, I’ll be there asap.” The guy glances back at Baekhyun. “Sorry, emergency. I gotta run. See you around!"  
  
Then the other male speeds off, not giving Baekhyun a chance to tell him about the fallen envelope. He sighs as he looks down at the folded paper. Does he pick it up?  
  
“You now owe me,” Baekhyun mutters as he flops down on the pavement again, with no assurance on how he’s going to get back up. He picks up the envelope and sees that it’s ripped on one end. Baekhyun peeks inside and is surprised to see the contents.  
  
One familiar-looking ticket.  
  
“I guess, I’ll really see you then.”  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Goryeo, 1169_

 

 

 

 

 

“Is it bad?” Hoo-jun asks, gritting his teeth against the pain.  
  
“The bleeding won’t stop,” Sehun answers worriedly, quickly applying a poultice on the wide gash on Hoo-jun’s waist. “Some of your wounds are still open. Hyung, I think it will be bad for you to go back—”  
  
“I’ve come this far, Sehun, do I give up now?” Hoo-jun asks his attendant. “Only one more opponent and I win.”  
  
Sehun frowns in distress. “But you’re going against the king’s champion. He is more experienced and has never lost a fight. If it were with your bows and arrows, I wouldn’t worry. But hyung… you’ve been fighting with your fists all day.”  
  
Hoo-jun looks down at his battered knuckles. The skin on each bone has long been scraped off, innumerable bruises now covering his flesh in painful colors. He is exhausted. But he will fight and he will heal. The pain that comes with each wound, he can survive.  
  
For they aren’t as painful as each glimpse of the tenth prince, sitting pale and still on the sidelines, watching the tournament with his beautiful face devoid of emotion. Hoo-jun had told himself to not look for Wang-eun when he arrived. But he couldn’t help it. He has missed him so, the ache of wanting to hold him close more devastating than the hits his body took during the competition.  
  
He will win today and he will be a soldier. He will leave the palace and his heart will no longer feel anything. He will die inside but it’s a small price to pay. Wang-eun will be safe and live until he’s old and gray. Perhaps, in time, he’ll forget the boy who broke his heart.  
  
He can vividly recall the last night he met with the prince. The way he had hurt him when Wang-eun pulled him in for a kiss and he had to turned away when all he wanted was to receive those lips and hold him forever. His harsh rejection of the prince’s plea for an explanation and the cold finality of his goodbye. The tears he does not deserve.  
  
Hoo-jun has not been back to the Astronomy tower since.  
  
“Hyung, they are calling your name,” Sehun says, pulling him back to the present.  
  
Hoo-jun stands, his bare torso, a riddle of injuries—bruises and scratches, shallow and deep. “I’m ready.”  
  
Finding the courage to finally show his affection and respect, his young attendant bows low and catches Hoo-jun’s hand, touching his lips to his knuckles. “Win, hyung.”  
  
Hoo-jun nods. “I will.”  
  
He walks to the middle of the courtyard with his head held high, hiding his limp with a confident smirk. He bows before the King Uijong and His Queen, bending lower when he faces his father who was sitting stiffly in his place as the Chief of Staff. Hoo-jun sends a quick glance towards Prince Wang-eun. He is in his blue princely clothes, a sight to behold. The prince turns away when their eyes meet.  
  
A eunuch announces the start of the final fight of the tournament between Jeong Hoo-jun and the king’s champion, Ma Dong-Seok, a man several years older with a body twice his size. Hoo-jun assumes a fighter’s stance and waits for his opponent to attack.  
  
Sehun is correct. He isn’t a good hand to hand combatant. Hoo-jun cannot hope to win if he attacks his opponent head on and fight punch for punch. He is gifted with an archer’s body—tall, slender and long-limbed—and it isn’t as muscular as Dong-Seok’s. But he is young and fast.  
  
_Run. Evade. Tire him out_.  
  
Hoo-jun gracefully moves out of the other man’s aggressive advances, exhilarated as he watches his frustration grow at not being able to score a hit.  
  
_Make him mad. Make him lose control._  
  
The younger fighter patiently bides his time. He can already see Dong-Seok running out of breath. He has been able to land a few blows on Hoo-jun but they are not fatal, the force behind each is weakening as the fight progresses. Seeing an opening, Hoo-jun throws a punch of his own, hitting his opponent in the face with enough impact to make him stagger backward.  
  
_Now!_  
  
Hoo-jun follows his attack with a kick to his throat, cutting off his air for a few moments, before pouncing like an angry lion, tackling the man on his back. He lets go of several punches to the face, putting all of the strength he has left behind each one. But Hoo-jun miscalculates. He did not count for the other man to play dirty. Ma Dong-Seok grabs a fistful of gravel and sand from the ground and hurls it at Hoo-jun’s face.  
  
The second he closes his eyes, Dong-Seok flings him off of him and then turns to pummel his body with solid punches. The painful hits pushes Hoo-jun to the limits of his strength. He can feel himself losing consciousness.  
  
_So this is how it ends. I’m sorry, father._  
  
“Get up!”  
  
At the edge of surrender, Hoo-jun thinks he must be hallucinating. Wasn’t that Wang-eun screaming for him to get up?  
  
“You weakling! Get up!”  
  
The hits have stopped. Hoo-jun opens his eyes and turns his head towards the stone steps leading up to where the noblemen were. General Jeong is on his feet there at the top. And then he sees the tenth prince, standing at the bottom step with his fists to his side, looking like an angry angel.  
  
“I will never forgive you if you die!” Wang-eun shouts. Suho goes to his side and restrains him, looking fearfully up at the King sitting on his throne.  
  
“What is this display, Eun?” King Uijong asks in a booming voice. “Are you betting against our champion?”  
  
Wang-eun turns to face his father but he doesn’t say anything, letting the animosity in his eyes speak for him.  
  
“Ah, I see you have grown bored have you?” Uijong taps his knees as if in thought. “I agree. This is boring. Dong-Seok is tiresome to watch.” The king calls on his Head Steward. “Remove that boor from my sight,” he orders him. “Good thing, I have seen this happening so I invited one of the greatest fighters of Goryeo, just in case. I’m hopeful he is much more to your liking, Eun.”  
  
The tenth prince doesn’t miss the malice dripping from the king’s words. He is mocking him and delights in doing so. Hoo-jun manages to pull himself up during the exchange, confused as two palace guards lead Dong-Seok away.  
  
His chest fills with dread, though, when the next fighter arrives. He recognizes him and the crest on the breastplate of his armor. “Uncle.”  
  
“Hoo-junah,” the older man’s voice is faint with the same surprise. He looks up at General Jeong. “Brother?"  
  
“Ah, do you all know each other?” the king asks, knowing full well the answer to his question. “A great reunion, I must say.”  
  
“Your highness,” Jeong Jung-bu says. “I do not understand.”  
  
“What is to understand? I’ve heard Colonel Jeong has just come back from a successful defense of our Eastern borders. Wouldn’t it be fitting to have him as my next champion?”  
  
“This is not what I came here for,” Hoo-jun’s uncle cuts in. “I will not fight my brother’s son for your entertainment.”  
  
“You dare to defy me?” the King says, standing up and making his way down the steps. His guards scurry to follow him and surround him with protection from all sides, a grand show of power. The king stops in front of Colonel Jeong and offers his hand. “But in light of your victory at the warfront, I’m willing to be gracious. A kiss, and you are forgiven.”  
  
Hoo-jun can can feel his uncle’s objection to the deed, nevertheless, he bows and starts to reach for the king’s hand. Yet in a swift move, the King pulls his hand out of reach slaps the old colonel across the face, his ring cutting the skin of Colonel Jeong's cheek open.  
  
“I changed my mind.” With that the King walks away, leaving everyone in varying states of shock, hatred and fury.  
  
“Uncle,” Hoo-jun calls out again, knowing the enormity of the humiliation his father’s brother has just received. He tries to walk towards the older man but pain and exhaustion finally catches up with him. Darkness blocks his vision and the last things he sees is the ground coming up fast to meet him.  
  
When Hoo-jun regains consciousness, it’s in his room, lying on the sleeping mat on the floor. The sun has long been gone and the moon is already halfway its travel across the night skies. A lone candle stands on top of the table, its flickering light no match to the shadows that fill the space enclosed by the four walls.  
  
It is perhaps because of his weakened senses that it isn’t until he hears a short sigh near him that he realizes he’s not alone.  
  
“You are awake,” Prince Wang-eun says, sitting with his arms around his bent knees. Despite the calm delivery, Hoo-jun can note the huge relief in his words. The general’s son tries to sit up, but it’s as if his body won’t listen. The prince hurries to his side to stop him from moving, staying him with his hands on his bandaged shoulders. “Stop. You will hurt yourself.”  
  
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, breathless, what little movement he was able to manage already taxing his limbs.  
  
“Tell it to my face then,” Wang-eun challenges, leaning in so close that their noses are almost touching. “Tell me you do not love me and I will go.”  
  
“I do not lo—”  
  
But Hoo-jun’s reply is interrupted by Wang-eun’s soft mouth closing over his. The prince kisses him with imploring lips, tender and yearning. “Please,” he whispers against Hoo-jun’s lips that the younger boy can taste his tears. “Do not hurt me anymore with words you do not mean.”  
  
“Do not give me the power to hurt you,” Hoo-jun pleads.  
  
“It’s too late for that.” The tenth prince carefully lies beside him, resting his head near Hoo-jun’s and putting an arm lightly around his waist. “Now, you cannot escape.”  
  
“You will be punished if they find you here—”  
  
“I do not care!” The prince tightens his hold. “A hundred lashes is nothing, _nothing_ , compared to the pain of you walking away from me. You did not even let me have a word in edgewise. You made all the decisions on your own. I have suffered enough, Soldier Hoo-jun.”  
  
“With me, you will suffer more and I cannot live knowing that,” Hoo-jun replies, steeling himself against the bliss of being this near Wang-eun again.  
  
“But you and I will be together, Hoo-jun,” the prince says, turning the younger’s face towards him. “Isn’t it all worth it?”  
  
No longer able to deny himself, Hoo-jun places his hand over the prince’s. “I will give my life for you.”  
  
At Hoo-jun’s reply, Wang-eun joins their lips again. “You have to recover. When you’re well enough, we will run away from here.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Hoo-jun asks seriously. “You will have to leave all of this…”  
  
“Do you think I have not thought of it? I will leave the only life I’ve known, everything, for the man I love. This has never been a game to me.” Wang-eun places a feather-light kiss on Hoo-jun’s shoulder. “I’ve never been this scared of my future. But you only need to hold my hand as we run and I know everything will be all right.”  
  
“For making you choose, I am sorry,” Hoo-jun says. “I will not make you regret it.”  
  
Wang-eun smiles, and even in the dimness of the room, he’s ever so bright. “Now tell me you love me. I have missed it.”  
  
“I love you,” the taller male avows. “ _I love you._ ”  
  
He repeats it again and again, until he’s certain Wang-eun has heard it enough. He caresses the prince’s mouth open and engraves the words of adoration with his lips.  
  
He pauses, though, when he hears knocks on his door. Sehun slides it slightly open. “Hyung,” Sehun says just above a whisper. “I have urgent news.”  
  
“Enter,” Hoo-jun calls out. Then to the prince,  “Can you help me up?”  
  
Wang-eun makes a sound of displeasure as he doesn’t want Hoo-jun to hurt himself but he helps him nonetheless. He makes sure to support Hoo-jun as he sits up, making the younger boy lean on him despite Sehun’s presence.  
  
“What is it?” Hoo-jun questions his attendant.  
  
“Hyung… Your highness,” Sehun kneels before them. “The general was in a meeting with his brother and the other warriors. He has sent word to evacuate the house and I received specific orders to accompany you. We are to leave the palace before the dawn breaks.”  
  
“What is he planning?” Hoo-jun asks, anxious at what all these could mean.  
  
“The servants are talking,” Sehun says in a low voice, hesitantly looking at Prince Wang-eun. “The warriors are all in position. There will be a coup and they’ll strike at the first light of morning.”  
  
“A coup?” Wang-eun turns to Hoo-jun, clutching onto his arm. “Against my father?”  
  
“Yes,” Hoo-jun confirms. He can see the horror in Wang-eun’s eyes at the knowledge of what will happen.  
  
“Will… will they kill everyone? My brothers and sisters… They are young...” Wang-eun turns away, eyes becoming clouded and unfocused.  
  
“Listen to me,” Hoo-jun tells his lover, snatching him into his arms. “My father is a just man. There will no bloodshed if there is no need for it.”  
  
“Hyung, I need to go and prepare for our journey,” Sehun says, immediately standing up. “Please save your strength. I will help you dress and go out when I come back.” He bows for the last time and looks at Wang-eun. “Your highness, my cousin waits for you at your quarters. He… he’ll only listen to whatever you will decide.”  
  
The servant boy then shuffles out of the room. They both can hear the silent chaos that fills the general’s household—feet running lightly in haste, urgent orders said in hushed voices.  
  
It’s so soon. Too soon.  
  
Hoo-jun glances at his prince and cups the side of Wang-eun’s face worriedly. “Talk to me.”  
  
“I must go.” As if in a trance, the prince moves away and stands up. He walks to the door and does not look back when Hoo-jun calls his name.  
  
The taller male can feel the emptiness in his chest as the distance between them grows. Wang-eun has made his decision and it feels as if the prince has ripped Hoo-jun’s heart out and is taking it with him. He cannot completely blame his lover for the side he has chosen but it does nothing to ease the pain.  
  
“Do you think this is where we began?” Wang-eun asks, pausing by the doorway. “Or in another lifetime... Do you think we found and lost each other before?”  
  
“Is it important?” he asks in return, sounding resentful even to his ears.  
  
“Yes,” the prince nods, still not looking back. “Because if I lose you now at least I know I can find my way to you again.”  
  
Hoo-jun gazes up in surprise. Hope awakens in him at Wang-eun’s words. “You will not lose me. Look at me and see it in my eyes.”  
  
“No. If I look at you, I’ll not have the strength to leave your side and there is a lot I need to do.” The small prince straightens his spine as if bracing himself for an assault. “Behind the Astronomy tower is a secret path that leads towards the forest. Take that path to escape.”  
  
“But what of you?”  
  
“I will take the same path.” Hoo-jun can see the effort it takes for Wang-eun to leave him. “Keep walking towards me until I find you.”  
  
“I will be there.”  
  
“Promise me.”  
  
“I promise,” Hoo-jun swears. “I promise I will not stop.”  
  
“I will see you, my love,” Wang-eun whispers and it echoes repeatedly in Hoo-jun’s ears long after he’s gone.  
  
_I will see you, my love._  
  
He hears him when he leaves his house behind, heavily injured and gritting his teeth against every agonizing step. He has a promise to keep and no force will keep him away.  
  
_I will see you, my love_  
  
He hears him when they traverse the bridges and the pathways that lead to the Astronomy tower, hearing the alarm ring loudly behind them as the coup starts and the invasion of the palace begins. Their time is up.  
  
_I will see you, my love_  
  
Hoo-jun hears Wang-eun’s silken voice when he runs out of arrows and he unsheathes his sword to fend off the fresh wave of guards heading their way. He can barely lift his arms but he cannot let Wang-eun down.  
  
_I will see you, my love_  
  
It’s the last thing he hears as he reaches his bloodied hands up towards the first rays of the sun, trying to hold the warmth in his palm, wanting to feel Wang-eun’s bright smile for the last time before oblivion overtakes him.  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Seoul, 2017_  
  


 

 

 

 

Baekhyun wakes up with the remnants of a scream in his head. There’s a dull throb in his chest and his eyes are damp with the tears of heartbreak.  
  
_... my love_  
  
In his dreams, he was waiting and waiting for the man who meant the whole world to him. The man with the large almond eyes, the confident smile and the adoring look. The man who promised to find him no matter what.  
  
But he wasn’t there when he opened his eyes to this morning somewhere in time. And he knows with certainty that he’ll not dream of him again. Baekhyun stares at nothing, the feeling of profound loss invades his limbs and the ache compels him to move away from the small confines of his room, to breathe.  
  
The archer of the skies stuck on his ceiling glows at the absence of the sun outside. It is the only light he can see. The gloomy weather perfectly reflects the melancholy he’s feeling. He now knows he has lost something so precious. But how does he find it? Where does he even begin?  
  
With no idea where he’s going, Baekhyun dresses up and braves the winter cold. He lets his feet take him wherever they will go. He barely sees where he’s going—the streets he takes, the people he passes by were all a jumble of colors and sounds.  
  
The next time he comes to, he does not expect to be inside the campus in the late afternoon, standing in front of a small gray building. He has no idea where the rest of his day went or how he even came to be there yet somehow he feels he’s in the right place. Without warning, his heart suddenly thumps loud and fast as he takes the first step towards the entrance.  
  
There’s a standing banner near the door, a sign that says welcome to the Art Department’s annual exhibit.  
  
_The Mythology of Stars_  
  
Baekhyun almost smiles at seeing that. He _is_ right where he’s supposed to be. But the apprehension he’s feeling prevents him to.  
  
“Tickets please,” a boy just inside the entrance says, smiling down at Baekhyun in greeting. For some reason, Baekhyun wants to pat his head, despite him being taller than he is. “You made it just in time. We’re closing in thirty minutes.”  
  
But then he realizes, he didn't bring his ticket _._ “Um…” Baekhyun searches his pockets and all he comes up with is his phone and a folded white envelope. Remembering what’s inside the fold, Baekhyun hurriedly fishes the ticket out and hands it over to the guy. It’s not his but maybe this is fate’s roundabout way of saying everything is now falling into place. Because all that has happened to him since the dreams have started, appears to be a part of something so much bigger.  
  
And everything seems to lead him right here, in this gallery, surrounded by art and stars and constellations.  
  
There are only a few people left scattered inside the gallery. The exhibit is divided into three smaller halls—the first one for relics from past eras depicting the ancient heavens, the next, paintings of the zodiacs from renowned alumni of the college, and the last, dedicated solely for the winner of the college’s recent competition.  
  
Baekhyun slowly makes his way around each hall, taking his time, waiting but not knowing exactly what he’s waiting for. He enters the antiques section and becomes most fascinated by a table with a celestial map etched on its painted wooden surface. It is roped off and is not allowed to be touched but he seems to know how it would feel like beneath the pads of his fingertips, as if he has run them over the markings hundreds of times before.  
  
He continues on to the second room, and on each wall are three framed paintings of a different star sign, the formations given flesh and brought to life in stunning detail. Baekhyun is instantly drawn to the zodiacs of summer. His favorite, the Sagittarius, is at the center of the three paintings—a handsome archer with long black hair, gracefully aiming his bow and arrow up at the sky.  
  
Baekhyun turns and sees the darkened entryway to the last hall, and the calm he has managed to gain the past few minutes, seem to leave his body in a rush. Deep in his gut, he’s sure that seeing what’s inside will either complete him or destroy him. But going there is inevitable as a force pulls him inexorably in.  
  
Baekhyun pauses before taking the last step in. The room is dim. All the lights were pointing towards the large square frame at the far wall. The young man has to blink several times to make sure what he’s seeing is true.  
  
He makes his way to the painting, the loud thumping of his heart beginning anew.  
  
There are a thousand stars painstakingly drawn on the canvass, a galaxy of lights against the deep blue of space. But that isn’t what steals Baekhyun’s breath and wrenches open the dam of his emotions.  
  
For when they are all put together, the stars form the image of a boy—a face he sees everyday on the mirror above his bathroom sink, staring back at him.  
  
His small, droopy eyes, his imperfect nose, the thin lips and even the tiny mole in one corner. It is him, his face at his most perfect, as if the artist only has the best image of him in his heart.  
  
“Aldebaran.”  
  
Baekhyun hears the deep voice from somewhere behind him and the first tear falls as his soul recognizes it. He covers his mouth to stop a sob from escaping, eyes still on the painting of himself from a few lifetimes ago.  
  
With his next breath, he feels the presence of the man beside him. “It is called Aldebaran,” the other says gruffly, if not a little shakily. “The brightest.”  
  
Baekhyun turns his head to look up at _him_. And he should have known. The same adoring eyes, the same full lower lip, and the same smile that promised him forever.  
  
It’s the guy on the white scooter with the funny ears.  
  
It’s the owner of the name on the books he needed in his search, of the man doing a search of his own.  
  
It’s _Sir Chanyeol_ , the savior of his dumplings and instant curry rice.  
  
It’s the young soldier in his dreams, the boy who loved the undeserving prince.  
  
It’s him.  
  
_Do you think this is where we began.. or in another lifetime, do you think we found and lost each other before?  
  
Keep walking towards me until I find you.  
  
I will be there.  
  
I promise.  
  
I will see you, my love._  
  
And he’s finally here.  
  
“You…” Baekhyun whispers brokenly. “You are late.”  
  


 

 

 

 

end.

 

 

 

  
  



End file.
